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3 1822 00161 5970 


I Nephi Anderson 

presented to the 




3 1822 00161 5970 

\ * 



A Story 


Author of "The Castle Builder," 

"A Daughter of the North," 
"John St. John," "Romance of a Missionary," etc. 

"And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon; 
. . . .and they who keep their second estate shall have glory 
added upon their heads for ever and ever." 


The Deseret News Press 
Salt Lake City, Utah 

Copyright 1898 

Copyright 1912 

All Rights Reserved. 


A religion, to be worth while, must give satis 
factory answers to the great questions of life: 
What am I? Whence came I? What is the object 
of this life? and what is my destiny? True, we walk 
by faith, and not by sight, but yet the eye of faith 
must have some light by which to see. Added 
Upon is an effort to give in brief an outline of 
"the scheme of things," "the ways of God to men" 
as taught by the Gospel of Christ and believed in by 
the Latter-day Saints; and to justify and praise 
these ways, by a glance along the Great Plan, from 
a point in the distant past to a point in the future 
not so far away, it is to be hoped. 

On subjects where little of a definite character 
is revealed, the story, of necessity, could not go into 
great detail. It is suggestive only; but it is hoped 
that the mind of the reader, illumined by the Spirit 
of the Lord, will be able to fill in all the details that 
the heart may desire, to wander at will in the gar 
den of the Lord, and dwell in peace in the mansions 
of the Father. 

Many have told me that when they read Added 
Upon, it seemed to have been written directly to 
them. My greatest reward is to know that the little 
story has touched a sympathetic chord in the hearts 
of the Latter-day Saints, and that it has brought 
to some aching hearts a little ray of hope and con 

Nephi Anderson. 
Liverpool, November 5, 1904. 


This story of things past, things present, and 
things to come has been before the Latter-day 
Saints for fourteen years. During this time, it 
seems to have won for itself a place in their hearts 
and in their literature. A reviewer of the book 
when it was first published said that "so great and 
grand a subject merits a more elaborate treatment." 
Many since then have said the story should be 
"added upon," and the present enlarged edition 
is an attempt to meet in a small way these demands. 
The truths restored to the earth through "Mormon- 
ism" are capable of illimitable enlargement; and 
when we contemplate these glorious teachings, we 
are led to exclaim with the poet : 

"Wide, and more wide, the kindling bosom swells, 
As love inspires, and truth its wonders tells, 
The soul enraptured tunes the sacred lyre, 
And bids a worm of earth to heaven aspire, 
'Mid solar systems numberless, to soar, 
The death of love and science to explore." 

N. A. 

Salt Lake City, Utah, 
May, 1912. 


"The Lord possessed me in the beginning of his way, before 
his works of old. 

"I was set up from everlasting, from the beginning, or ever 
the earth was. 

"When there were no depths, I was brought forth; when 
there were no fountains abounding with water. 

"Before the mountains were settled, before the hills was 
I brought forth: 

"While as yet he had not made the earth, nor the fields, 
nor the highest part of the dust of the world. 

"When he prepared the heavens, I was there: when he set 
a compass upon the face of the depth: 

"When he established the clouds above: when he strength 
ened the fountains of the deep: 

"When he gave to the sea his decree, that the waters should 
not pass his commandment: when he appointed the founda 
tions of the earth: 

"Then I was by him, as one brought up with him: and I 
was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him." Prov. 


"Where was thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? 
. . . When the morning stars sang together, and all the Sons 
of God shouted for joy?" Job 38:4,7. 

The hosts of heaven sons and daughters of 
God were assembled. The many voices mingling, 
rose and fell in one great murmur like the rising 
and falling of waves about to sink to rest. Then 
all tumult ceased, and a perfect silence reigned. 

"Listen," said one to another by his side, 
"Father's will is heard." 

A voice thrilled the multitude. It was clear as 
a crystal bell, and so distinct that every ear heard, 
so sweet, and so full of music that every heart 
within its range beat with delight. 

"And now, children of God," were the words, 
"ye have arrived at a point in this stage of your 
development where a change must needs take place. 
Living, as ye have, all this time in the presence of 
God, and under the control of the agencies which 
here exist, ye have grown from children in knowl 
edge to your present condition. God is pleased with 
you the most of you, and many of you have shown 
yourselves to be spirits of power, whom He will 


make His future rulers. Ye have been taught many 
of the laws of light and life, whereby the universe 
is created and controlled. True, ye have not all 
advanced alike, or along the same lines. Some have 
delighted more in the harmonies of music, while 
others have studied the beauties of God's surround 
ing works. Each hath found pleasure and profit 
in something; but there is one line of knowledge 
that is closed to you all. In your present spiritual 
state, ye have not come in contact with the grosser 
materials of existence. Your experiences have been 
wholly within the compass of spiritual life, and 
there is a whole world of matter, about which ye 
know nothing. All things have their opposites. Ye 
have partly a conception of good and evil, but the 
many branches into which these two principles sub 
divide, cannot be understood by you. Again, ye all 
have had the hope given you that at some time ye 
would have the opportunity to become like unto 
your parents, even to attain to a body of flesh and 
bones, a tabernacle with which ye may pass on to 
perfection, and inherit that which God inherits. 
If, then, ye ever become creators and rulers, ye 
must first become acquainted with the existence of 
properties, laws, and organization of matter other 
than that which surround you in this estate. 

"To be over all things, ye must have passed 
through all things, and have had experience with 
them. It is now the Father's pleasure to grant you 
this. Ye who continue steadfast, shall be added 
upon, and be permitted to enter the second estate; 
and if ye abide in that, ye shall be further increased 


and enlarged and be worthy of the third estate, 
where glory shall be added upon your heads forever 
and ever. 

"Even now, out in space, rolls another world 
with no definite form, and void; but God's Spirit is 
there, moving upon it, and organizing the elements. 
In time, it will be a fit abode for you." 

The voice ceased. Majesty stood looking out 
upon the silent multitude. Then glad hearts could 
contain no more, and the children of God gave a 
great shout of joy. Songs of praise and gladness 
came from the mighty throng, and its music echoed 
through the realms of heaven! 

Then silence fell once more. The Voice was 
heard again: 

"Now, how, and upon what principles will your 
salvation, exaltation, and eternal glory be brought 
about? It has been decided in the councils of eter 
nity, and I will tell you. 

"When the earth is prepared, two will be sent 
to begin the work of begetting bodies for you. It 
needs be that a law be given these first parents. 
This law will be broken, thus bringing sin into the 
new world. Transgression is followed by punish 
ment; and thus ye, when ye are born into the world, 
will come in contact with misery, pain, suffering, 
and death. Ye will have a field for the exercise of 
justice and mercy, love and hatred. Ye will suffer, 
but your suffering will be the furnace through which 
ye will be tested. Ye will die, and your bodies will 
return to the earth again. Surrounded by earthly 
influences, ye will sin. Then, how can ye return to 


the Father's presence, and regain your tabernacles? 
Hear the plan: 

"One must be sent to the earth with power over 
death. He will be the Son, the only begotten in the 
flesh. He must be sinless, yet bear the sins of the 
world. Being slain, He will satisfy the eternal law 
of justice. He will go before and bring to pass the 
resurrection from the dead. He will give unto you 
another law, obeying which, will free you from your 
personal sins, and set you again on the way of eter 
nal life. Thus will your agency still be yours, that 
ye may act in all things as ye will." 

A faint murmur ran through the assembly. 

Then spoke the Father: "Whom shall I send?" 

One arose, like unto the Father a majestic 
form, meek, yet noble the Son; and thus he spoke: 

"Father, here am I, send me. Thy will be done, 
and the glory be thine forever." 

Then another arose. Erect and proud he stood. 
His eyes flashed, his lip curled in scorn. Bold in 
his bearing, brilliant and influential, Lucifer, the 
Son of the Morning, spoke: 

"Behold I, send me. I will be thy son, and I 
will redeem all mankind, that not one soul shall be 
lost; and surely I will do it; wherefore, give me thine 

Then spoke one as with authority: 

"Lucifer, thy plan would destroy the agency of 
man his most priceless gift. It would take away 
his means of eternal advancement. Your offer can 
not be accepted." 


The Father looked out over the vast throng; 
then clearly the words rang out: 

"I will send the first!" 

But the haughty spirit yielded not. His coun 
tenance became fiercer in its anger, and as he strode 
from the assembly, many followed after him. 

Then went the news abroad throughout heaven 
of the council and the Father's proposed plan; of 
Christ's offer, and Lucifer's rebellious actions. The 
whole celestial realm was agitated, and contention 
and strife began to wage among the children of 

Returning from the council chamber of the 
celestial glance through the paths of the surround 
ing gardens, came two sons of God. Apparently, 
the late events had affected them greatly. The 
assembly had dispersed, and, save now and then a 
fleeting figure, they were alone. They were engaged 
in earnest conversation. 

"But, Brother Sardus," said one, "how can you 
look at it in that light? Lucifer was surely in the 
wrong. And then, how haughty and overbearing 
he was." 

"I cannot agree with you, Homan. We have 
a right to think and to act as we please, and I con 
sider Lucifer in the right. Think of this magnificent 
offer, to bring back in glory to Father's presence, 
every one of His children, and that, too, without 
condition on their part." 

"There! He, and you with him, talk about your 
rights to think and act as you please. Have you not 
that right? Have you not used it freely in refusing 


to listen to Father's counsel? Do not I exercise it 
in that I listen and agree with Him? But let me 
tell you, brother, what your reasoning will lead to." 

"I know it but go on." 

"No, you do not; you do not seem to under 

"Perhaps you will explain," said the other 

"Brother, be not angry. It is because of my 
love for you that I speak thus. It is evident that 
we, in that future world of experience and trial, 
will retain our agencies to choose between the oppo- 
sites that will be presented to us. Without that 
privilege, we should cease to be intelligences, and 
become as inanimate things. How could we be 
proved without this power? How could we make 
any progress without it?" 

"I grant it all." 

"Then, what would Lucifer do? He would save 
you from the dangers of the world, whether you 
would or not. He would take away any need of 
volition or choice on our part. Do what we would, 
sink as deep into sin as we could, he would save us 
notwithstanding, without a trial, without a purging 
process, with all our sins upon us; and in this con 
dition we are expected to go on to perfection, and 
become kings and priests unto God our Father, 
exercising power and dominion over our fellow 
creatures. Think of it! Evil would reign triumph 
ant. Celestial order would be changed to chaos." 

The other said not a word. He could not an 
swer his brother's array of arguments. 


"Dear brother," continued Homan, "never be 
fore have I received such sorrow as when I saw you 
follow that rebellious Son of Morning. Hence 
forth quit his company. I fear for him and his fol 

"But he has such power over me, Homan. His 
eloquence seems to hold me, and his arguments cer 
tainly convince me. But I must go and brother, 
come with me to the assembly which we are to hold. 
Many will be there from far and near. Will you 

"I cannot promise you, Sardus. Perhaps I may 
call and see what is said and done." 

Then they parted. 

Homan went to the gathering of which Sardus 
had spoken, and as had been intimated, he met many 
strange faces. Everywhere in the conversation, 
serious topics seemed to be uppermost. The sing 
ing was not as usual. The music, though always 
sweet, was sadder than ever before, and a discord 
seemed to have crept into the even flow of life's 
sweet strain. Homan had no desire to talk. He 
wandered from group to group with a smile for all. 
Sardus was in a heated discussion with some kind- 
dred spirits; but Homan did not join them. Under 
the beautiful spread of the trees and by the foun 
tains, sat and walked companies of sons and daugh 
ters of God. Ah, they were fair to look upon, and 
Homan wondered at the creations of the Father. 
No two were alike, yet all bore an impress of the 
Creator, and each had an individual beauty of his 


Strolling into an arbor of vines, Homan, did not 
observe the fair daughter seated there until he turned 
to leave; and then he saw her. She seemed 
absorbed in thought, and her eyes rested on the 
shifting throngs. 

"A sweet face, and a strange one," thought he, 
as he went up to her and spoke: 

"Sister, what are you thinking about?" 

She turned and looked at him, and then a 
pleased smile overspread her face. 

"Shall I tell you?" 

"Do, I beg of you. May I sit here?" He seated 
himself opposite. 

"Yes, brother, sit. My thoughts had such a 
strange ending that I will tell you what they were. 
I have been sitting here looking at these many faces, 
both new and old, and studying their varied beauties; 
but none seems to me to answer for my ideal. So 
I have been taking a little from each face, putting 
all together to form another. I had just completed 
the composition, and was looking admiringly at 
the new form when you came and and " 

"Drove away your picture. That I should not 
have done." 

"No; it was not exactly that. It is so odd." 
She hesitated and turned away her head. Then she 
looked up into his face again and said: "My dream 
face seemed to blend with yours." 

They looked at each other strangely. 

"Do you often make dream pictures?" asked he. 

"Yes, of late; but I sometimes think I should 



"Because of the many great events that are 
taking place around us daily which need our care 
ful thought and consideration. I have been trying 
to comprehend this great plan of our Father's in 
regards to us. I have asked Mother many questions, 
and she has explained, but I cannot fully under 
stand only, it all seems so wonderful, and our 
Father is so good and great and wise; but how 
could He be otherwise, having Himself come up 
through the school of the eternities?" 

Her words were music to Homan's ear. Her 
voice was soft and sweet. 

"Yet it is very strange. To think that we shall 
forget all we know, and that our memories will fail 
to recall this world at all." 

"Yes, it is all strange to us, but it cannot be 
otherwise. You see, if we knew all about what we 
really are and what our past has been, mortal exper 
iences would not be the test or the school that Father 
intends it to be." 

"That is true; but think of being shut out, even 
in our thoughts, from this world. And then, I hear 
that down on earth there will be much sin and mis 
ery, and a power to tempt and lead astray. O, if 
we can but resist it, dear brother. What will this 
power be, do you know?" 

"I have only my thoughts about it. I know 
nothing for a certainty; but fear not, something 
will prompt us to the right, and we have this hope 
that Father's Spirit will not forsake us. And above 
all, our Elder Brother has been accepted as an offer- 


ing for all the sins we may do. He will come to us 
in purity, and with power to loose the bands of 
death. He will bring to us Father's law whereby 
we may overcome the world and its sin." 

"You said the bands of death. What is death?" 

"Death is simply the losing of our earthly tab 
ernacles for a time. We shall be separated from 
them, but the promise is that our Elder Brother will 
be given power to raise them up again. With them 
again united, we shall become even as our parents 
are now, eternal, perfected, celestialized beings." 

As they conversed, both faces shone with a soft, 
beautiful light. The joy within was traced on their 
countenances, and for some time it was too deep for 
words. Homan was drawn to this beautiful sister. 
All were pleasing to his eye, but he was unusually 
attracted to one who took such pleasure in talking 
about matters nearest his heart. 

"I must be going," said she. 

"May I go with you?" 


They wandered silently among the people, then 
out through the surrounding gardens, listening to 
the music. Instinctively, they clung to each other, 
nor bestowed more than a smile or a word on pass 
ing brother or sister. 

"What do you think of Lucifer and his plan?" 
asked she. 

"The talented Son of the Morning is in danger 
of being cast out if he persists in his course. As to 
his plan, it is this: 'If I cannot rule, I will ruin.' " 


"And if he rule, it will still be ruin, it seems 
to me." 

"True; and he is gaining power over many." 

"Yes; he has talked with me. He is a bewitch 
ing person; but his fascination has something 
strange about it which I do not like." 

"I am glad of that." 

She looked quickly at him, and then they gazed 
again into each other's eyes. 

"By what name may I call you?" he asked. 

"My name is Delsa." 

"Will you tell me where you live? May I come 
and talk with you agaijn? It will give me much 

"Which pleasure will be mutual," said she. 

They parted at the junction of two paths. 


"How art thou fallen from heaven, O, Lucifer, son of the 
morning." Isaiah 1^:12. 

Never before in the experiences of the intelli 
gences of heaven, had such dire events been fore 
shadowed. A crisis was certainly at hand. Lucifer 
was fast gaining influence among the spirits and 
they had their agency to follow whom they would. 
The revolting spirit had skill in argument; and the 
light-minded, the discontented, and the rebellious 
were won over. 

To be assured eternal glory and power without 
an effort on their part, appealed to them as some- 


thing to be desired. To be untrammeled with laws, 
to be free to act at pleasure, without jeopardizing 
their future welfare, certainly was an attractive 
proposition. The pleasures in the body would be 
of a nature hitherto unknown. Why not be free 
to enjoy them? Why this curb on the passions and 
desires? "Hail to Lucifer and his plan! We will 
follow him. He is in the right." 

Many of the mighty and noble children of God 
arrayed themselves on the side of Christ, their Elder 
Brother, and waged war against Lucifer's pernici 
ous doctrine. One of the foremost among them was 
Michael. He was unceasing in his efforts to bring 
all under the authority of the Father. The plan 
which had been proposed, and which had been ac 
cepted by the majority, had been evolved from the 
wisdom of past eternities. It had exalted worlds 
before. It had been proved wise and just. It was 
founded on correct principles. By it only could the 
spiritual creation go on in its evolution to greater 
and to higher things. It was the will of the Father, 
to whom they all owed their existence as progressive, 
spiritual organizations. To bow to Him was no 
humiliation. To honor and obey Him was their 
duty. To follow the First Born, Him whom the 
Father had chosen as mediator, was no more than 
a Father should request. Any other plan would lead 
to confusion. Thus reasoned the followers of Christ. 

Then there were others, not valiant in either 
cause, who stood on neutral ground. Without 
strength of character to come out boldly, they aided 
neither the right nor the wrong. Weak-minded as 


they were, they could not be trusted, nor could 
Lucifer win them over. 

Meanwhile, the earth, rolling in space, evolved 
from its chaotic state, and in time became a fit abode 
for the higher creations of God. 

Then the crisis came. The edict went forth 
that for many of the sons and daughters of God 
the first estate was about to end, and that the second 
would be ushered in. Lucifer had now won over 
many of the hosts of heaven. These had failed to 
keep their first estate. Now there would be a sep 

A council was convened, and the leading spirits 
were summoned. All waited for the outcome in 
silent awe. 

Then came the decision, spoken with heavenly 

"Ye valiant and loyal sons and daughters of 
God, blessed are ye for your righteousness and your 
faithfulness to God and His cause. Your reward 
is that ye shall be permitted to dwell on the new 
earth, and in tabernacles of flesh continue in the 
eternal course of progress, as has been marked out 
and explained to you." 

Then, to the still defiant forms of Lucifer and 
his adherents this was said: 

"Lucifer, son of the morning, thou hast with 
drawn from the Father many of the children of 
heaven. They have their agency, and have chosen 
to believe thy lies. They have fallen with thee from 
before the face of God. Thus hast thou used the 
power given thee. Thou hast said in thy heart, I 


will exalt my throne above the stars of God. . . . 
I will be like the Most High! Thou hast sought to 
usurp power, to take a kingdom that does not belong 
to thee. God holds you all as in the hollow of His 
hand; yet He has not restrained thine agency. He 
has been patient and longsuffering with you. Re 
bellious children of heaven, the Father's bosom 
heaves with sorrow for you; but justice claims its 
own your punishment is that you be cast out of 
heaven. Bodies of flesh and bones ye shall not have; 
but ye shall wander without tabernacles over the 
face of the earth. Ye shall be 'reserved in everlast 
ing chains under darkness unto the judgment of the 
great day.' " 

Thus went forth the decree of the Almighty ; 
and with it the force of His power. Lucifer and 
many of the hosts of heaven were cast down. The 
whole realm was thrilled with the power of God. 
The celestial elements were stirred to their depths. 
Heaven wept over the fallen spirits, and the cry 
went out, "Lo, lo, he is fallen, even the Son of the 


"For thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world." 
i John 17:24. 

There was a calm in heaven like unto that of 
a summer morning after a night of storm. 

Throughout the whole strife, the dark clouds 
of evil had been gathering. In the fierce struggle, 


the spirits of heaven had been storm-tossed as on 
two contending waves; but when Lucifer and his 
forces were cast out, the atmosphere became purged 
of its uncleanness, and a sweet peace brooded over 
all. Save for sorrow for the lost ones, nothing 
marred the perfect joy of heaven. All now looked 
forward to the consummation of that plan whereby 
they would become inhabitants of another world, 
fitted for their school of experience in the flesh. All 
prepared themselves with this end in view. 

None was more grateful to his Father than 
Homan. In the midst of the strife, he had done 
what he could for what he thought was right. All 
his influence had been used with the wavering ones, 
and many were those who owed him a debt of grat 
itude. But his greatest reward was in the peace 
which dwelt within him and the joy with which he 
was greeted by all who knew him. 

Through it all, Homan's thoughts had often 
been with the fair sister Delsa; and often he had 
sought her and talked with her. It pleased him 
greatly to see the earnestness and energy with which 
she defended the cause of the Father. He was 
drawn to her more than to the many others who 
were equally valiant. As he thought of it, its 
strangeness occurred to him. Why should it be so? 
He did not know. Delsa was fair; so were all the 
daughters of God. She had attained to great intel 
ligence; so had thousands of others. Then wherein 
lay the secret of the power which drew him to her? 

The vastness of the spiritual world held enough 
for study, research, and for occupation. None 


needed to be idle, for there were duties to be per 
formed, as much here as in any other sphere of 
action. In the Father's house are many mansions. 

In the one where Delsa lived, she and Homan 
sat in earnest conversation. Through the opening 
leading to the garden appeared the stately form of 
Sardus. Homan sprang to meet him and greeted 
him joyously: 

"Welcome, Brother Sardus, welcome!" 

Delsa arose. 

"This is Brother Sardus," said Homan, "and 
this is Sister Delsa." 

"Welcome, brother," said she. "Come and sit 
with us." 

"Sardus," continued Homan, "I thought you 
lost. I have not met you for a long time. You 
remember our last conversation? Sardus, what joy 
to know that you are on the safe side, that you did 
not fall with Lucifer " 

"S h, that name. Dear brother, he tempted 
me sorely, but I overcame him." 

"But we are shortly to meet him on new 
ground," continued Homan. "As seducing spirits, 
he and his followers will still fight against the 
anointed Son. They will not yield. Not obtaining 
bodies themselves, they will seek to operate through 
those of others." 

"Now we know how temptation and sin will 
come into the world," said Delsa. "God grant that 
we may overcome these dangers again, as we once 
have done." 


They conversed for some time; then Sardus 
departed to perform some duty. 

"I, too, must go," said Delsa. "A company of 
sisters is soon to leave for earth, and I am going 
to say farewell to them." 

"Delsa, you do not go with them? You are not 
leaving me?" 

"No, Roman, my time is not yet." 

"May we not go together? but there that is 
as Father wills. He will ordain for the best. There 
are nations yet to go to the earth, and we shall have 
our allotted time and place." 

A group of persons was engaged in earnest 
conversation, when a messenger approached. He 
raised his hand for silence, and then announced: 
"I come from the Father on an errand to you." 
The company gave him close attention, and he 
continued: "It is pertaining to some of our brothers 
and sisters who have gone before us into earth- 
life. I shall have to tell you about them so that you 
may understand. A certain family of earth-children 
has fallen into evil ways. Not being very strong 
for the truth before they left us, their experiences 
in the other world have not made them stronger. 
This family, it seems, has become rooted in false 
doctrine and wrong living, so that those who come 
to them from us partake also of their error and 
unbelief of the truth. As you know, kinship and 
environment are powerful agencies in forming char 
acter, and it appears that none of the Father's child 
ren have so far been able to withstand the ten- 


dency to wrong which is exerted on all who come 
to this family." 

The messenger paused and looked around on 
the listening group. Then he continued: "The 
Father bids me ask if any of you are willing to go 
in earth-life to this family, become kin to those 
weak-hearted ones for their salvation." 

There was a long pause as if all were consid 
ering the proposition. The messenger waited. 

"Brother," asked one, "is there not danger that 
he who goes on this mission might himself come 
under the influence you speak of to such an extent 
that he also would be lost to the good, and thus make 
a failure of his mission?" 

"In the earth-life, as here," replied the mes 
senger, "all have their agency. It is, therefore, pos 
sible that those who take upon themselves this mis 
sion for there must be two, male and female to 
give way to the power of evil, and thus fail in their 
errand. But, consider this: the Father has sent me 
to you. He knows you, your hearts, your faithful 
ness, your strength. He knows whom He is asking 
to go into danger for the sake of saving souls. Yes, 
friends, the Father knows, and this ought to be 
enough for you." 

The listeners bowed their heads as if ashamed 
of the doubting, fearful thought. Then in the still 
ness, one spoke as if to herself: "To be a savior, 
to share in the work of our Elder Brother! O, 
think of it!" Then the speaker raised her head 
quickly. "May I go, may I?" she questioned 


"And I," "and I," came from others. 

"Sister, you will do for one," said the messen 
ger to her who had first spoken. "And now, we need 
a brother yes, you, brother, will do." This to one 
who was pressing forward, asking to be chosen. 

"Yes, yes," continued the messenger, as he 
smiled his pleasure on the company, "I see that the 
Father knows you all." 

"But," faltered the sister who had been chosen, 
"what are we to do? May we not know?" 

"Not wholly," was the reply. "Do you not re 
member what you have been taught, that a veil is 
drawn over the eyes of all who enter mortality, and 
the memory of this world is taken away; but this 
I may tell you, that by the power of your spiritual 
insight and moral strength you will be able to 
exert a correcting influence over your brothers and 
sisters in the flesh, and especially over those of your 
kin. Then again, when you hear the gospel of our 
Elder Brother preached, it will have a familiar 
sound to you and you will receive it gladly. Then 
you will become teachers to your households and a 
light unto your families. Again, not only to those 
in the flesh will you minister. Many will have 
passed from earth-life in ignorance of the gospel of 
salvation when you come. These must have the 
saving ordinances of the gospel performed for them, 
so that when they some time receive the truth, the 
necessary rites will have been performed. This 
work, also, is a part of your mission to enter into 
the Temples of the Lord, male and female, each for 
his and her kind, and do this work." 


A sister, pressing timidly forward near to him 
who had been chosen, took his hand, and looked 
pleadingly into the face of the messenger. "May 
not I, too, go?" she asked. "I believe I could help 
a little." 

The messenger smiled at her, seeing to whose 
hand she clung. "I think so," he said; "but we 
shall see." 

"When do we go?" asked the brother. 

"Not yet. Abide the will of the Father, and 
peace be with you all." 

He left them in awed silence. Then, presently, 
they began to speak to each other of the wonderful 
things they had heard and the call that had come 
to some of them. 

Times and seasons, nations and peoples had 
come and gone. Millions of the sons and daughters 
of God had passed through the earthly school, and 
had gone on to other fields of labor, some with 
honor, others with dishonor. God's spiritual intel 
ligences, in their innumerable gradations were be 
ing allotted their times and places. The scheme of 
things inaugurated by the Father was working out 
its legitimate results. 

Homan's time had come for him to leave his 
spiritual home. He was now to take the step, which, 
though temporarily downward, would secure him 
a footing by which to climb to greater heights. 
Delsa was still in her first estate. So also was 
Sardus. They, with a company, were gathered to 
bid Homan farewell, and thus they spoke: 

"We do not know," Homan was saying, 


"whether or not we shall meet on the earth. Our 
places and callings may be far apart, and we may 
never know or recognize each other until that day 
when we shall meet again in the mansions of our 

"I am thankful for one thing: I understand that 
a more opportune time in which to fill our proba 
tion has never been known on the earth. The 
Gospel exists there in its fulness, and the time of 
utter spiritual darkness has gone. The race is 
strong and can give us sound bodies. Now, if we 
are worthy, we shall, no doubt, secure a parentage 
that will give us those powers of mind and body 
which are needed to successfully combat the powers 
of evil." 

It was no new doctrine to them, but they loved 
to dwell upon the glorious theme. 

"We have been taught that we shall get that 
position to which our preparation here entitles us. 
Existence is eternal, and its various stages grade 
naturally into one another, like the different depart 
ments of a school." 

"Some have been ordained to certain positions 
of trust. Father knows us all, and understands 
what we will do. Many of our mighty ones have 
already gone, and many are yet with us awaiting 
Father's will." 

"I was once quite impatient. Everything 
seemed to pass so slowly, I thought; but now I see 
in it the wisdom of the Father. What confusion 
would result if too many went to the earth-life at 


once. The experience of those who go before are 
for our better reception." 

"Sardus," said Roman, "I hear that you are 
taking great delight in music." 

"That is expressing the truth mildly, dear Ho- 
man. Lately I can think of nothing else." 

"What is your opinion of a person being so 
carried away with one subject?" asked one. 

"I was going to say," answered Roman, "that 
I think there is danger in it. Some I know who 
neglect every other duty except the cultivation of 
a certain gift. I think we ought to grow into a 
perfectly rounded character, cultivating all of 
Father's gifts to us, but not permitting any of them 
to become an object of worship." 

"Remember, we take with us our various traits," 
said Delsa. "I think, Roman, your view is correct. 
It is well enough to excel in one thing, but that 
should not endanger our harmonious development." 

"I have noticed, Delsa, that you are quite an 
adept at depicting the beautiful in Father's crea 

"I?" she asked; "there is no danger of my be 
coming a genius in that line. I do not care enough 
for it, though I do a little of it." 

Thus they conversed; then they sang songs. 
Tunes born of heavenly melody thrilled them. After 
a time they separated, and Roman would have gone 
his way alone, but Delsa touched him on the arm. 

"Roman, there is something I wish to tell you," 
she said. "May I walk with you?" 

"Instead I will go with you," he replied. 


They went on together. 

"I, too, soon am going to earth," she said. 

"Is it true?" 

"Yes; Mother has informed me and I have been 
preparing for some time. Dear Homan, I am so 
glad, still the strange uncertainty casts a peculiar 
feeling over me. Oh, if we could but be classmates 
in the future school." 

"Father may order it that way," he replied. 
"He knows our desires, and if they are righteous 
and for our good He may see that they are gratified. 
Do you go soon?" 

"Yes; but not so soon as you. You will go 
before and prepare a welcome for me. Then I will 
come." She smiled up into his face. 

"By faith we see afar," he replied. 

"Yes; we live by faith," she added. 

Hand in hand, they went. They spoke no more, 
but communed with each other through a more 
subtle channel of silence. Celestial melodies rang in 
their ears; the celestial landscape gladdened their 
eyes; the peace of God, their Father, was in their 
hearts. They walked hand in hand for the last 
time in this, their first estate. 


"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 
The soul that rises with us, our life's star, 
Hath had elsewhere its setting, 

And cometh from afar. 

Not in entire forgetfulness 

And not in utter nakedness, 

But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God who is our home." 


"Two shall be born the whole wide world apart, 

And speak in different tongues and have no thought 

Each of the other's being, and no heed; 

And these o'er unknown seas and unknown lands 

Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death; 

And all unconsciously shape every act 

And bend each wandering step to this one end 

That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet 

And read life's meaning in each other's eyes." 

Susan Marr Spotting 


"Even a child is known by his doings." Prov. 20:11. 

How it did rain! For two long months the sky 
had been one unchangeable color of blue; but now 
the dark clouds hung low and touched the horizon 
at every point dropping their long-accumulated 
water on the thirsty barrens, soaking 'the dried-up 
fields and meadows. The earth was thirsty, and 
the sky had at last taken pity. It rained all day. 
The water-ditches along the streets of the village 
ran thick and black. The house-wife's tubs and 
buckets under the dripping eaves were overrunning. 
The dust was washed from the long rows of trees 
which lined the streets. 

It rained steadily all over the valley. The creek 
which came from the mountains, and which distrib 
uted its waters to the town and adjacent farm-lands, 
was unusually muddy. Up in the canyon, just above 
the town, it seemed to leap over the rocks with 
unwonted fury, dashing its brown waters into white 
foam. The town below, the farms and gardens of 
the whole valley, depended for their existence on 
that small river. Through the long, hot summer its 
waters had been distributed into streams and sub- 
streams like the branches of a great tree, and had 
carried the life-giving element to the growing veg 
etation in the valley; but now it was master no more. 
The rain was pouring down on places which the 


river could not reach. No wonder the river seemed 
angry at such usurpation. 

About two miles from town, upon the high 
bench-land which lay above the waters in the river, 
stood a hut. It was built of unhewn logs, and had 
a mud roof. Stretches of sagebrush desert reached 
in every direction from it. A few acres of cleared 
land lay near by, its yellow stubble drinking in the 
rain. A horse stood under a shed. A pile of sage 
brush with ax and chopping block lay in the yard. 

Evening came on and still it rained. A woman 
often appeared at the door of the hut, and a pale, 
anxious face peered out into the twilight. She looked 
out over the bench-land and then up to the moun 
tains. Through the clouds which hung around their 
summits, she could see the peaks being covered with 
snow. She looked at the sky, then again along the 
plain. She went in, closed the door, and filled the 
stove from the brush-wood in the box. A little girl 
was sitting in the corner by the stove, with her feet 
resting on the hearth. 

"I thought I heard old Reddy's bell," she said, 
looking up to her mother. 

"No; I heard nothing. Poor boy, he must be 
wet through." 

The mud roof was leaking, and pans and buck 
ets were placed here and there to catch the water. 
The bed had been moved a number of times to find 
a dry spot, but at last two milk pans and a pail 
had to be placed on it. Drip, drip, rang the tins 
and it still rained. 

The mother went again to the door. The clang 


of cow-bells greeted her, and in a few minutes, a 
boy drove two cows into the shed. The mother held 
the door open while he came stamping into the 
house. He was a boy of about fifteen, wearing a 
big straw hat pressed down over his brown hair, 
a shabby coat, blue overalls with a rend up one leg, 
ragged shoes, but no stockings. He was wet to the 
skin, and a pool of water soon accumulated on the 
floor where he paused for an instant. 

"Rupert, you're wet through. How long you 
have been! You must get your clothes off," anx 
iously exclaimed his mother. 

"Phew!" said he, "that's a whoopin' big rain. 
Say, mother, if we'd only had this two months ago, 
now, on our dry farm, wouldn't we have raised a 
crop though." 

"You must get your clothes off, Rupert." 

"Oh, that's nothin'. I must milk first; and say 
I guess the mud's washed off the roof by the looks 
of things. I guess I'll fix it." 

"Never mind now, you're so wet." 

"Well, I can't get any wetter, and I'll work and 
keep warm. It won't do to have the water comin' 
in like this look here, there's a mud puddle right 
on Sis's back, an' she don't know it." 

He laughed and went out. It was quite dark, 
but the rain had nearly ceased. With his wheel 
barrow and shovel he went to a ravine close by and 
obtained a load of clay, which he easily threw up 
on the roof of the low "lean-to"; then he climbed 
up and patched the holes. A half hour's work and it 
was done. 


"And now I'll milk while I'm at it," he said; 
which he did. 

"I've kept your supper warm," said his mother, 
as she busied with the table. "It's turned quite 
cold. Why did you stay so long today?" 

Rupert had changed his wet clothes, and the 
family was sitting around the table eating mush 
and milk. A small lamp threw a cheery light over 
the bare table and its few dishes, over the faces 
of mother, boy, and girl. It revealed the bed, moved 
back into its usual corner, shone on the cupboard 
with its red paint nearly worn off, and dimly lighted 
the few pictures hanging on the rough whitewashed 

It was a poor home, but the lamplight revealed 
no discontent in the faces around the table. True, 
the mother's was a little pinched and careworn, 
which gave the yet beautiful face a sharp expres 
sion; but the other two countenances shone with 
health and happiness. The girl was enjoying her 
supper, the bright sagebrush fire, and the story book 
by the side of her bowl, all at the same time. She 
dipped, alternately, into her bowl and into her book. 

The boy was the man of that family. He had 
combed his hair well back, and his bright, honest 
face gleamed in the light. He was big and strong, 
hardened by constant toil, matured beyond his years 
by the responsibility which had been placed upon 
him since his father's death, now four years ago. 
Infjfanswer to his mother's inquiries, Rupert ex 

"You see, the cows had strayed up Dry Holler, 


an' I had an awful time a findin' them. I couldn't 
hear any bell, neither. Dry Holler creek is just 
boomin', an' there's a big lake up there now. The 
water has washed out a hole in the bank and has 
gone into Dry Basin, an' it's backed up there till 
now it's a lake as big as Brown's pond. As I stood 
and looked at the running water an'the pond, some- 
thin' came into my head somethin' I heard down 
town last summer. An' mother, we must do it!" 

The boy was glowing with some exciting 
thought. His mother looked at him while his sister 
neglected both book and bowl. 

"Do what, Rupert?" 

"Why, we must have Dry Basin, an' I'll make 
a reservoir out of it, an' we'll have water in the 
summer for our land, an' it'll be just the thing. 
With a little work the creek can be turned into the 
Basin which'll fill up during the winter an' spring. 
There's a low place which we'll have to bank up, 
an' the thing's done. The ditch'll be the biggest 
job, but I think we can get some help on that but 
we must have the land up in Dry Holler now before 
someone else thinks of it an' settles on it. Mother, 
I was just wonderin' why someone hasn't thought 
of this before." 

The mother was taken by surprise She sat 
and looked wonderingly at the boy us he talked. 
The idea was new to her, but now she thought of 
it, it seemed perfectly feasible. Work was the only 
thing needed; but could she and her boy do it? 

Five years ago when Mr. Ames had moved upon 
the bench, he had been promised that the new canal 


should come high enough to bring water to his land; 
but a new survey had been made which had left 
his farm far above the irrigation limit. Mr. Ames 
had died before he could move his family; and they 
had been compelled to remain in their temporary 
hut these four long, hard years. Rupert had tried 
to farm without water. A little wheat and alfalfa 
had been raised, which helped the little family to 
live without actual suffering. 

That evening, mother and son talked late into 
the night. Nina listened until her eyes closed in 
sleep. The rain had ceased altogether, and the 
moon, hurrying through the breaking clouds, shone 
in at the little curtained window. Prayers were 
said, and then they retired. Peaceful sleep reigned 
within. Without, the moonlight illumined the moun 
tains, shining on the caps of pearly whiteness which 
they had donned for the night. 


"He that tilleth his land shall be satisfied with bread; but 
he that followeth vain persons is void of understanding." 
Prov. 12:11. 

Widow Ames had homesteaded one hundred and 
sixty acres of government land in Dry Hollow. That 
was a subject for a two days' gossip in the town. 
There was speculation about what she wanted with 
a dry ravine in the hills, and many shook their heads 
in condemnation. However, it set some to thinking 
and moved one man, at least, to action. Jed Bolton, 


the same day that he heard of it, rode up into the 
hills above town. Sure enough, there was a rough 
shanty nearly finished; some furrows had been 
plowed, and every indication of settlement was 
present. Mr. Bolton bit his lip and used language 
which, if it did not grate on his own ears, could 
not on the only other listener, his horse. 

Rupert was on the roof of his shanty and Mr. 
Bolton greeted him as he rode up. 

"Hello, Rupe, what're ye doin'?" 

"Just finishin' my house. It looks like more 
rain, an' I must have the roof good an' tight." 

"You're not goin' to live here?" 

"Oh, yes, part of the time." 

"What's that for?" 

"To secure our claim. Mother's homesteaded 
one hundred and sixty acres of this land." 

"What in the world are you goin' to do with 

"We'll farm some of it, of course, an' we'll find 
some use for another part after awhile, I guess." 

Then Mr. Bolton changed his tactics. He tried 
to discourage the boy by telling him that it was 
railroad land, and even if it wasn't, his own adja 
cent claim took it all in anyway; Rupert did not 
scare, but said, "I guess not," as he went on quietly 
fitting and pounding. 

The man had to give it up. "That Ames kid" 
had gotten the best of him. 

This was four years ago, and wonderful changes 
had taken place since then. Rupert had begun 
work on his reservoir the spring after they had 


taken possession. He had a most beautiful site for 
one; and when the melting winter snows and spring 
rains filled Dry Hollow creek, most of it was turn 
ed into the Basin. It slowly spread out, filled the 
deep ravines, and crept up to Rupert's embank 
ment. Then he turned the stream back into its 
natural channel again. Many came to look at the 
wonder. Some of his neighbor "dry-benchers" of 
fered to join him and help him for a share in the 
water. The reservoir could be greatly enlarged, and 
the canal leading from it around the side-hills to 
the bench had yet to be dug; so Rupert and his 
mother accepted the offers of help and the work 
went on rapidly. The next year Dry Bench had 
water. New ground was broken and cleared. Trees 
were set out. There was new life on the farm, and 
new hopes within the hearts of Widow Ames and 
her children. 

Dry Bench farm had undergone a change. A 
neat frame house stood in front of the log hut, which 
had been boarded and painted to match the newer 
part. A barn filled with hay and containing horses 
and cows stood at a proper distance back. A gran 
ary and a corn-crib were near. The new county 
road now extended along the fronting of the Ames 
place, and a neat fence separated the garden from 
the public highway. On the left was the orchard, 
a beautiful sight. Standing in long, symmetrical 
rows were peaches, apples, pears, and a dozen other 
varieties of fruit, now just beginning to bear. At 
the rear, stretching nearly to the mountains, were 
the grain and alfalfa fields. Neighboring farms 


also were greatly improved by the advent of water, 
but none showed such labor and care as the Ames 
farm. Rupert grew with the growth of his labors, 
until he was now a tall, muscular fellow, browned 
and calloused. Nina was fast outgrowing childish 
things and entering the young-lady period. A beau 
tiful girl she was, and a favorite among her school 
mates. She had attended school in town for the 
past three winters, and her brother was talking of 
sending her to the high school. 

Practically, Rupert was the head of the family. 
Always respectful to his mother, and generally con 
sulting with her on any important matter, he never 
theless could not help seeing that everything de 
pended on him, and that he was the master mind 
of Ames farm. And then the neighbors came to 
him for advice, and older and presumably wiser 
men counseled with him, and so it suggested itself 
to Rupert that he was the master mind of all Dry 
Bench besides. Everybody called him a "rustler." 
When he had leisure for school, he was beyond 
school age; so, nothing daunted, he set out to study 
by himself. He procured the necessary books, and 
went to them with an energy that made up for the 
lack of a teacher. Nina kept pace with him for a 
time, but the ungraded village school curriculum 
was too slow for Rupert; and when one spring 
the young reservoir projector appeared at the county 
teachers' examination and passed creditably, all, as 
he said "just for fun and practice," the people talked 
again and elected him to the board of trustees. 

A beautiful spring morning dawned on Dry 


Bench. A cool breeze came from the mountains and 
played with the young leaves of the orchard. The 
apricots were white with blossoms, and the plums 
and peaches were just bursting into masses of pink 
and white. The alfalfa and wheat fields were beau 
tifully green. Blessed Morning, what a life pro 
moter, what a dispeller of fears and bringer of hopes, 
thou art! 

Rupert was out early. After tossing some hay 
to the horses and cows, he shouldered his shovel 
and strode up the ditch, whistling as he went. His 
straw hat set well back on his head. His blue 
"jumper" met the blue overalls which were tucked 
into a pair of heavy boots. His tune was a merry 
one and rang out over the still fields and up to the 

Rupert's thoughts were a mixture that morn 
ing, and flew from one thing to another: the ditch 
which he was to clean and repair; the condition of 
the reservoir; the meeting of the school board; the 
planting of the garden; the dance at the hall in 
town; the wonderful spreading properties of weeds 
so on from one subject to another, until he came 
to a standstill, leaning on his shovel and looking 
over his farm and down to the town, fast growing 
into a city. From a hundred chimneys smoke was 
beginning to come, befouling the clear air of the 

"It is a beautiful sight," said he to himself. 
"Six years ago and what was it? Under whose hand 
has this change grown? Mine. I have done most 
of the work, and I can lawfully claim most of the 


credit. Then it was worthless, and just the other 
day I was offered five thousand dollars for the place. 
That's pretty good. Father couldn't have done any 

Rupert was not given to boasting, but it did 
seem lately that everything he set his hand to pros 
pered exceedingly. This had brought some self- 
exalting thoughts into his mind; not that he talked 
of them to others, but he communed with them to 
himself, nevertheless. 

That morning, as he rested his chin on his 
hands that clasped the end of his shovel, such 
thoughts swelled the pride in his heart, and his work 
was left undone. The sun came suddenly from be 
hind the peak and flooded the valley with light; still 
Rupert stood looking over the fields. In the dis 
tance towards the left he caught sight of a horse 
and buggy coming at a good pace along the new 
country road. He watched it drawing nearer. A 
lady was driving. Her horse was on its mettle this 
morning and the reins were tight. They were at 
that ugly place where the road crosses the canal 
he was to repair it that morning He awoke from 
his dreaming with a start, but too late; the horse 
shied, a wheel went into the ugly hole, and the 
occupant was pitched into the dry bottom of the 
canal. Rupert ran down the road shouting "whoa" 
to the horse which galloped past him. The lady 
scrambled up before Rupert reached her. 

"Are you hurt?" he inquired. 

"No no, sir," she managed to say. She was 


pale and trembling. "Can you catch my horse? 1 
think he will stop at that barn." 

"I'll get your horse, never fear; just so you're 
not hurt. Let me help you out of the ditch." 

She held out a gloved hand and he assisted her 
up the bank. She was just a girl, and he could have 
carried her home, had it been necessary. 

"Thank you, sir, but could you get my horse, 
please? There, he is stopping at that house." 

"That is where I live. I'll bring him to you, 
if you will wait." 

"Oh, thanks; but I can walk that far. The fall 
has just shaken me up a little. I shall soon get 
over it. 

They walked down the road to the gate. 

"You must come in and rest," said he, "and 
I'll take care of your horse." She remonstrated, 
but he insisted, and brought her into the kitchen 
where his mother was busy with breakfast. Rupert 
explained, and his mother instantly became solicit 
ous. She drew a rocking chair up to the fire and 
with gentle force seated the stranger, continuously 
asking questions and exclaiming, "Too bad, too bad." 

Rupert readily caught the runaway animal, and, 
leading him into the yard, fastened and fed him. 

"Take off your hat, Miss," said Mrs. Ames, 
"your head'll feel easier. I know it must ache with 
such a knock as that. I believe you're cold, too. 
Put your feet on the hearth or here, I'll open the 
oven door there! You must take a cup of coffee 
with us. It'll warm you. You haven't had break 
fast yet, I dare say." 


The stranger thanked her and leaned back in 
the chair quite content. The fall had really shaken 
her severely and a pain shot, now and then, into 
her head. Rupert foolishly fidgeted about outside 
before he could make up his mind to come in. Nina 
now made her appearance. The coffee was poured 
out and the stranger was invited to sit up. Once, 
twice, Mrs. Ames spoke to her, but she sat perfectly 
still. Her face was pale, her eyes half closed. 

"What's the matter, Miss?" asked the mother, 
looking into the girl's face. 

"Mother, I believe she has fainted," said Nina. 

The three bent over the still form. Mrs. Ames 
rubbed the cold hands, Nina became nervous, and 
Rupert looked down into the pale, beautiful face. 

"Yes, she has fainted. It is too warm in here. 
We must get her in the sitting-room on the sofa. 
Rupert, help us." 

Rupert stood at a distance. The mother and 
Nina tried to lift her, but they failed. 

"You'll have to carry her in, Rupert. Come, 
don't stand there as if you couldn't move. It's too 
close in this kitchen." 

But the young fellow still hesitated. To take 
a strange, fair girl in his arms such a thing he 
had never done but he must do so now. He put 
his strong arms under her and lifted her as he would 
a child, and carried her into the next room, where 
he laid his burden on the sofa. The cool air had 
its effect, and she opened her eyes and smiled into 
the faces that were bent over her. 


"Lie still, my dear," said Mrs. Ames. "You 
have been hurt more than you think." 

"Did I faint? yes, I must have but I'm not 
hurt." She tried to rise, but with a moan she sank 
back on the pillow which Nina had brought. 

"I'll go for the doctor," said Rupert, and off he 
went. When he and Doctor Chase came in an hour 
later, the girl was again sitting at the table with 
Mrs. Ames and Nina. 

"I met with a slight accident down the road," 
she explained to the doctor. "I wasn't quite killed, 
you see, but these good people are trying to finish 
me with their kindness;" and she laughed merrily. 

Her name was Miss Wilton. She was a school 
teacher, and was on her way to answer an adver 
tisement of the Dry Bench trustees for a teacher. 
She hoped the doctor would pronounce her all right 
that she might continue her journey, as she under 
stood it was not far. 

"You have had a severe shaking up, Miss Wil 
ton, but I don't think you need to postpone your 
journey more than a few hours," was the doctor's 

About noon, Rupert drove Miss Wilton's horse 
around to the front door and delivered it to her. 
With a profusion of thanks, she drove away in the 
direction of the chairman of the school trustees. 
Neither Nina nor her mother had said anything about 
Rupert's being on the board. Mrs. Ames had once 
seemed to broach the subject, but a look from 
Rupert was enough to check her. When the school 
teacher disappeared down the road, Rupert again 


shouldered his shovel, and this time the ugly hole 
where the road crossed the canal was mended. That 
done, he returned home, hitched a horse to his car, 
and drove to town. 


"Favor is deceitful and beauty is vain." Psalms 31:30. 

Miss Virginia Wilton was engaged to teach the 
spring term of school at the Dry Bench schoolhouse. 
Why that upland strip bordering the mountains 
should be called "Dry Bench," Miss Wilton, at first, 
did not understand. If there was a garden spot in 
this big, ofttimes barren Western country, more 
beautiful than Dry Bench, she had in all her ram 
bles failed to find it. But when the secret of tha 
big reservoir up in the hills came to her knowledge, 
she wondered the more; and one member of the 
school board from that moment rose to a higher 
place in her estimation; yes, went past a long row 
of friends, up, shall it be said to the seat of honor? 

Miss Wilton gave general satisfaction, and she 
was engaged for the next school year. 

For one whole year, the school teacher had 
passed the Ames farm twice each day. She called 
often on Mrs. Ames, and Nina became her fast 
friend. During those cool May mornings and after 
noons, when the sky was cloudless and the breeze 
came from the mountains, the young school teacher 
passed up and down the road and fell to looking 
with pleasure on the beautiful fields and orchards 


around her, and especially at the Ames farm the 
central and most flourishing of them all. Perhaps 
it would not be fair to analyze her thoughts too 
closely. She was yet young, only twenty-two 
Rupert's own age; yet Miss Wilton's experiences in 
this world's school were greater than that of the 
simple young farmer's. 

Had she designs on the Ames farm and its mas 
ter? She had been in the place a year only. How 
could such thoughts arise within such a little head? 
How could such serious schemes brood behind such 
laughing lips and sparkling eyes? Strange that 
such should be the case, but truth is ofttimes 

Since the railroad had been extended through 
the valley, the town of Willowby had grown won 
derfully. Its long, straight streets enclosing the 
rectangular squares, had not crept, but had sped 
swiftly out into the country on all sides, and espe 
cially towards the mountains, until now the Ames 
place was within the corporated city limits. Wil 
lowby soon became a shipping point for grain and 
fruits to the markets which the mining towns to the 
north afforded. The Ames orchard consisted of 
the finest fruits which commanded a high price. 
Yes, the property was fast making its owners rich. 

Rupert Ames was a "rising young man," lack 
ing the finished polish of a higher education, no 
doubt, but still, he was no "green-horn." Even Miss 
Wilton had to acknowledge that, when she became 
acquainted so that she could speak freely with him. 
He was a shrewd business man and knew how to 


invest his growing bank account. It was no secret 
that city lots and business property were continually 
being added to his possessions. 

As to home life at the farm, Miss Wilton was 
always charmed with the kind hearted mother, the 
bright, cheerful Nina, and the handsome, sober head 
of the family. Such a beautiful spirit of harmony 
brooded over the place! Even within the year, the 
observant young woman could see signs of culture 
and coming wealth. The repairing of old buildings, 
and the erecting of the new ones; the repainting and 
decorating of rooms; the addition of costly pic 
tures and furniture; the beautifying of the outside 
surroundings all this was observed, and a mental 
note taken. 

For a time Rupert Ames was quite reserved in 
the presence of the young school teacher. Naturally 
reticent, he was more than ever shy in the company 
of an educated lady from the East. Rupert never 
saw her but he thought of the day of her arrival on 
Dry Bench and the time when he held her in his 
arms. Never had he referred to the latter part of 
the episode, though she often talked of her peculiar 
introduction to them. 

At the end of the first year, Miss Wilton had 
so far shown that she was but common flesh and 
blood that Rupert had been in her company to a 
number of socials, and they had walked from church 
a few times together. Dame gossip at once mated 
the two, and pronounced it a fine match. 

Early in September they had a peach party at 
the Ames farm. Willowby's young folks were there, 


and having a good time. When the sun sank behind 
the hills on the other side of the valley, and the cool 
air came from the eastern mountains, Chinese lan 
terns were hung on the trees, and chairs and tables 
were placed on the lawn. There were cake and ice 
cream and peaches peaches of all kinds, large and 
small, white and yellow, juicy and dry; for this was 
a peach party, and everybody was supposed to eat, 
at least, half a dozen. 

The band, with Volmer Holm as leader, fur 
nished the music; and beautiful it was, as it echoed 
from the porch out over the assembly on the lawn. 
When the strains of a waltz floated out, a dozen 
couples glided softly over the velvety grass. 

"That's fine music, Volmer," Rupert was say 
ing to the bandmaster, as the music ceased. 

"Do you think so? We've practiced very much 
since our new organization was effected. Will it do 
for a concert?" 

"You know I'm no judge of music. I like yours, 
though, Volmer. What do you say about it, Miss 
Wilton? Mr. Holm wishes to know if his music is 
fit for a concert?" 

"Most certainly it is," answered the young lady 
addressed, as she stepped up with an empty peach 
basket. "Mr. Holm, I understand that last piece is 
your own composition? If so, I must congratulate 
you; it is most beautiful." 

"Thank you," and he bowed as he gave the 
signal to begin again. 

"Mr. Ames, more peaches are wanted the big 
yellow ones. Where shall I find them?" 


"I'll get some or, I'll go with you." He was 
getting quite bold. Perhaps the music had some 
thing to do with that. 

He did not take the basket, but led the way out 
into the orchard. It was quite a distance to the 
right tree. 

"That is beautiful music," said she. "Mr. Holm 
is a genius. He'll make his mark if he keeps on." 

"Yes, I understand that he is going East to 
study. That will bring him out if there is any 
thing in him." 

There was a pause in the conversation; then 
Rupert remarked carefully, as if feeling his way: 

"Yes, there's talent in Volmer, but he makes 
music his god, which I think is wrong." 

"Do you think so?" she asked. 

What that expression meant, it was hard to say. 

"Yes, I think that no man should so drown him 
self in one thing that he is absolutely dead to every 
thing else. Mr. Holm does that. Volmer worships 
nothing but music." 

Rupert filled the basket and they sauntered 

"A more beautiful god I cannot imagine," she 
said, half aloud. 

Rupert turned with an inquiring look on his 
face, but he got nothing more from her, as she was 
busy with a peach. Her straw hat was tilted back 
on her head, and the wavy brown hair was some 
what in confusion. School teaching had not, as yet, 
driven the roses from her cheeks, nor the smiles 
from her lips. There was just enough of daylight 


left so that Rupert could see Miss Wilton's big eyes 
looking into his own. How beautiful she was! 

"Mr. Ames, before we get back to the company, 
I wish to ask you a question. Mr. Holm has asked 
me to sing at his concert, and I should like to help 
him, if the school trustees do not object." 

"Why should they, Miss Wilton?" 

"Well, some people, you know, are so peculiar." 

"I assure you they will not care that is, if it 
will not interfere with your school duties." 

"As to that, not a moment. I need no rehears 
als as I am used to that is I you see, I will sing 
some old song." 

Miss Wilton's speech became unusually con 
fused, and Rupert noticed it; but just then Nina 
and her escort joined them, and they all went back 
to the lawn. 

"Miss Wilton's going to sing at the concert," 
Volmer told Rupert later in the evening. " 'Twill 
be a big help. She's a regular opera singer, you 
know. She's been in the business. I heard her sing 
in Denver two years ago, and she was with a troupe 
that passed through here some time since. I remem 
ber her well, but of course I wouldn't say anything 
to her about it. No doubt she wishes to forget it 

"What do you mean?" asked Rupert, quite 

"I mean that her company then was not of the 
choicest, but I believe she's all right and a good 
enough girl. Rupe, don't bother about that. Per 
haps I shouldn't have said anything to you." 


"Oh, that's all right. I'm glad you mentioned 

Still a dull, miserable pain fastened itself in 
Rupert Ames' heart the rest of the evening; and 
even when the company had gone, and Miss Wilton 
had lingered and sweetly said "Good-night," and 
the lights were out, strange thoughts and feelings 
drove from his eyes the sleep that usually came 
peacefully to him. 

Rupert Ames was in love. The fact became 
the central idea of his existence. 

During Rupert's busy life, love affairs had not 
occupied much of his attention. Of course, he, in 
common with the rest of young mankind, thought 
that some day he would love some girl and make 
her his wife; but it was always as a far-away dream 
to him, connected with an angelic perfection which 
he always found missing in the workaday world. 
His wife must be a pure, perfect creature. Mar 
riage was a sacred thing one of the great events 
in a person's life. Not that these views had now 
changed altogether, for Miss Virginia Wilton came 
nearer his ideal than anyone he had yet met. Still, 
there was considerable of the tangible present about 
her. She was educated, businesslike, and a leader, 
and he, ambitious of attaining to something in the 
world, would need such a woman for his wife. But 
that sting which Volmer Holm had given him! His 
wife must be beyond suspicion. He could not afford 
to make a mistake, for if he did, it would be the 
mistake of his life. But was it a sin for a girl to 
sing in an opera? Certainly not. Anyway, he 


would not condemn her unheard and then, he was 
sure he loved her. It had come to him unbidden. 
It was no fault of his that this girl should have 
come into his common life, and, seemingly, com 
pletely change it. 

The autumn days passed. With the work of 
harvesting and marketing there was no time for 
social gatherings. The school teacher had changed 
her boarding place, and her path lay no longer past 
the Ames farm. So Rupert mingled his thoughts 
with his labors, and in time there emerged from 
that fusion a fixed purpose. 

That fall Rupert's time as school trustee ex 
pired. At the first meeting of the new board, Miss 
Wilton's position was given to a male teacher. The 
reason given for the change was that "It takes a 
man to govern boys." Other reasons, however, 
could be heard in the undercurrent of talk. 

The first Sunday after he heard of it, Rupert 
found Miss Wilton, and together they walked up 
the canyon road. It was a dull, cloudy day, and not 
a breath moved the odorous choke-cherry bushes 
which lined the dusty road. Never mind what was 
said and done that afternoon. 'Tis an old, old story. 
Between woman's smiles and tears, the man gained 
hope and courage, and when that evening they came 
down the back way through the fields and orchards, 
Virginia Wilton was Rupert Ames' promised wife. 



"0 Lord, lead me in a plain path." Isaiah 27:11. 

The scene shifts to a land afar off toward the 
north, Norway away up into one of its mountain 
meadows. The landscape is a mixture of grandeur 
and beauty. Hills upon hills, covered with pine and 
fir, stretch away from the lowlands to the distant 
glacier-clad mountains, and patches of green mead 
ow gleam through the dark pine depths. 

The clear blue sky changes to a faint haze in 
the hilly distance. The gentle air is perfumed with 
the odor of the forest. A Sabbath stillness broods 
over all. The sun has swung around to the north 
west, and skims along the horizon as if loth to leave 
such a sweet scene. 

Evening was settling down on the Norwegian 
saeter, or summer herd ground. Riding along the 
trail through the pines appeard a young man. He 
was evidently not at home in the forest, as he peered 
anxiously through every opening. His dress and 
bearing indicated that he was not a woodsman nor 
a herder of cattle. Pausing on a knoll, he surveyed 
the scene around him, and took off his hat that the 
evening breeze might cool his face. Suddenly, there 
came echoing through the forest, from hill to hill, 
the deep notes of the lur. The traveler listened, 
and then urged his horse forward. Again and again 
the blast reverberated, the notes dying in low echoes 
on the distant hills. From another rise, the rider 


saw the girl who was making all this wild music. 
She was standing on a high knoll. Peering down 
into the forest, she recognized the traveler and wel 
comed him with an attempt at a tune on her long, 
wooden trumpet. 

"Good evening, Hansine," said he, as his horse 
scrambled up the path close by, "your lur made wel 
come music this evening." 

"Good evening, Hr. Bogstad," said she, "are 
you not lost?" 

"I was, nearly, until I heard you calling your 
cows. It is a long way up here but the air and 
the scenery are grand." 

"Yes, do you think so? I don't know anything 
about what they call grand scenery. I've always 
lived up here, and it's work, work all the time 
but those cows are slow coming home." She lifted 
her lur to her lips and once more made the woods 

Down at the foot of the hills, where the pines 
gave place to small, grassy openings, stood a group 
of log huts, towards which the cows were now seen 

"Come, Hr. Bogstad, I see the cows are coming. 
I must go down to meet them." 

They went down the hill together. The lowing 
cows came up to the stables, and as the herd grew 
larger there was a deafening din. A girl was stand 
ing in the doorway of one of the cabins, timidly 
watching the noisy herd. 

"Come, give the cows their salt," laughingly 
shouted Hansine to her. 


"And get hooked all to pieces? Not much." 

"You little coward. What good would you be 
on a saetert What do you think, Hr. Bogstad?" 

As the girl caught sight of the new arrival she 
started and the color came to her face. He went 
up to her. "How are you, Signe?" he said. "How 
do you like life on a saeterV 

"Well, I hardly know," she said, seemingly 
quite embarrassed. 

"Oh, I'll tell you," broke in the busy Hansine, 
as she came with a pail full of salt. "She just goes 
around and looks at and talks about what she calls 
the beauties of nature. That she likes; but as for 
milking, or churning, or making cheese, well " 

Then they all laughed good naturedly. 

Hansine was a large, strong girl, with round, 
pleasant features. She and the cows were good 
friends. At the sound of the lur every afternoon 
the cows turned their grazing heads towards home, 
and, on their arrival, each was given a pat and a 
handful of salt. Then they went quietly into their 

It was quite late that evening before the milk 
had been strained into the wooden platters and 
placed in rows on the shelves in the milk house. 
Hr. Bogstad and Signe had proffered their help, 
but they had been ordered into the house and Signe 
was told to prepare the evening meal. When Han 
sine came in, she found the table set with the cheese, 
milk, butter, and black bread, while Signe and Hr. 
Bogstad sat by the large fireplace watching a pot 
of boiling cream mush. 


The object of Hr. Bogstad's visit was plain 
enough. He had been devoting his attentions to 
Signe Dahl for some time, and now that he was 
home from college on a vacation, it was natural that 
he should follow her from the village up to the 

Hr. Bogstad, though young, was one of the rich 
men of Nordal. He had lately fallen heir to a large 
estate. In fact, Signe's parents, with a great many 
more, were but tenants of young Hr. Henrik Bog 
stad; and although it was considered a great honor 
to have the attentions of such a promising young 
man for, in fact, Henrik was quite exemplary in 
all things, and had a good name in the neighbor 
hood still Signe Dahl did not care for him, and 
was uneasy in his company. She would rather sail 
with some of the fisher boys on the lake than be the 
object of envy by her companions. But Signe's 
slim, graceful form, large blue eyes, clear, dimpled 
face, light silken hair, combined with a native grace 
and beauty, attracted not only the fisher boys but 
the "fine" Hr. Bogstad also. She was now spend 
ing a few days with her cousin Hansine in the 
mountains. Her limited knowledge of saeter life 
was fast being augmented under her cousin's super 
vision, notwithstanding Hansine's remarks about 
her inabilities. 

The cabin wherein the three were seated was 
of the rudest kind, but everything was scrupulously 
clean. The blazing pine log cast a red light over 
them as they sat at the table. 


"So you see nothing grand in your surround 
ings?" asked Hr. Bogstad of Hansine. 

"How can I? I have never been far from home. 
Mountains and forests and lakes are all I know." 

"True," said he, "and we can see grandeur and 
beauty by contrast only." 

"But here is Signe," remarked Hansine; "she 
has never seen much of the world, yet you should 
hear her. I can never get her interested in my cows. 
Her mind must have been far away when she dished 
up the mush, for she has forgotten something." 

"Oh, I beg pardon," exclaimed the forgetful 
girl. "Let me attend to it." 

She went to the cupboard and brought out the 
sugar and a paper of ground cinnamon, and sprin 
kled a layer of each over the plates of mush. Then 
she pressed into the middle of each a lump of but 
ter which soon melted into a tiny yellow pond. 

"I should like to hear some of these ideas of 
yours," remarked the visitor to Signe, who had so 
far forgotten her manners as to be blowing her 
spoonful of mush before dipping it into the butter. 

"I wish I were an artist," said she, without 
seeming to notice his remarks. "Ah, what pictures 
I would paint! I would make them so natural that 
you could see the pine tops wave, and smell the 
breath of the woods as you looked at them." 

"You would put me in, standing on The Look 
out blowing my lur, wouldn't you?" 


"And I have no doubt that we could hear the 


echoes ringing over the hills," continued Hansine, 

"Never mind, you needn't make fun. Yes, Hr. 
Bogstad, I think we have some grand natural scenes. 
I often climb up on the hills, and sit and look over 
the pines and the shining lake down towards home. 
Then, sometimes, I can see the ocean like a silver 
ribbon, lying on the horizon. I sit up there and gaze 
and think, as Hansine says, nearly all night. I seem 
to be under a spell. You know it doesn't get dark 
all night now, and the air is so delicious. My 
thoughts go out 'Over the high mountains/ as Bjorn- 
son says, and I want to be away to hear and see 
what the world is and has to tell me. A kind of 
sweet loneliness comes over me which I cannot ex 

Hr. Bogstad had finished his dish. He, too, was 
under a spell the spell of a soft, musical voice. 

"Then the light in the summer," she continued. 
"How I have wished to go north where the sun 
shines the whole twenty-four hours. Have you ever 
seen the Midnight Sun, Hr. Bogstad?" 

"No; but I have been thinking of taking a trip 
up there this summer, if I can get some good com 
pany to go with me. Wouldn't you " 

It was then that Signe hurriedly pushed her 
chair away and said: "Thanks for the food." 

Next morning Signe was very busy. She 
washed the wooden milk basins, scalded them with 
juniper tea, and then scoured them with sand. She 
churned the butter and wanted to help with the 
cheese, but Hansine thought that she was not pay- 


ing enough attention to their visitor, so she ordered 
her off to her lookout on the mountain. Hr. Bog- 
stad would help her up the steep places; besides, 
he could tell her the names of the ferns and flowers, 
and answer the thousand and one questions which 
she was always asking. So, of course, they had 
to go. 

But Signe was very quiet, and Henrik said but 
little. He had come to the conclusion that he truly 
loved this girl whose parents were among the poor 
est of his tenants. None other of his acquaintances, 
even among the higher class, charmed him as did 
Signe. He was old enough to marry, and she was 
not too young. He knew full well that if he did 
marry her, many of his friends would criticise; but 
Henrik had some of the Norseman spirit of liberty, 
and he did not think that a girl's humble position 
barred her from him. True, he had received very 
little encouragement from her, though her parents 
had looked with favor upon him. And now he was 
thinking of her cold indifference. 

They sat down on a rocky bank, carpeted with 
gray reindeer moss. 

They had been talking of his experiences at 
school. He knew her desire to finish the college 
education cut short by a lack of means. 

"Signe, I wish you would let me do you a favor." 

She thought for a moment before she asked 
what it was. 

"Let me help you attend college. You know 
I am able to, besides besides, some day you may 


learn to think as much of me as I do of you, and 
then, dear Signe " 

Signe arose. "Hr. Bogstad," she said, "I wish 
you would not talk like that. If you do, I shall go 
back to Hansine." 

"Why, Signe, don't be offended. I am not jest 
ing." He stood before her in the path, and would 
have taken her hand, but she drew back. 

"Signe, I have thought a great deal of you for 
a long time. You know we have been boy and girl 
together. My absence at school has made no dif 
ference in me. I wish you could think a little of 
me, Signe." 

"Hr. Bogstad, I don't believe in deceiving any 
one. I am sorry that you have been thinking like 
that about me, because I cannot think of you other 
than as a friend. Let us not talk about it." 

If Henrik could not talk about that nearest his 
heart, he would remain silent, which he did. 

Signe was gathering some rare ferns and mosses 
when Hansine's lur sounded through the hills. That 
was the signal for them, as well as the cows, to 
come home. 

Early the next morning Hansine's brother came 
up to the saeter to take home the week's accumula 
tion of butter and cheese. Signe, perched on the 
top of the two-wheeled cart, was also going home. 
Hr. Bogstad, mounted on his horse, accompanied 
them a short distance, then rode off in another direc 



"Can two walk together, except they be agreed?" Amos 3:8 

It was nearly noon when Signe Dahl sprang 
from the cart, and with her bundle under her arm, 
ran down the hillside into the woods, following a 
well-beaten trail. That was the short cut home. 
Hans had found her poor company during the ride, 
and even now, alone in the woods, the serious coun 
tenance was loth to relax. A ten minutes' walk 
brought her to the brow of a hill, and she sauntered 
down its sloping side. Signe had nearly reached 
home, and being doubtful of her reception there, 
she lingered. Then, too, she could usually amuse 
herself alone, for she always found some new won 
der in the exhaustless beauty of her surroundings. 

She threw herself on a green bank, and this is 
the picture which she saw: Just before her, the 
greensward extended down to a lake, whose waters 
lost themselves behind cliffs and islands and pine- 
clad hills. Here and there in the distance towards 
the north, there could be seen shining spots of water; 
but towards the south the hills closed in precip 
itously, and left room only for the outlet of the 
lake to pour over its rocky bed into another val 
ley below. On the farther shore, five miles dis 
tant, a few red farm houses stood out from the plats 
of green all the rest was forest and rock. The 
sky was filled with soft, fleecy clouds, and not a 
breath stirred the surface of the lake. Signe gazed 
towards a rocky island before her. Only the roof 


of the house upon it could be seen, but from its 
chimney arose no smoke. That was where Signe 
had been born, and had lived most of the eighteen 
years of her life. The girl walked down the hillside 
to the lake and again seated herself, this time on a 
rock near the edge of the water. She took a book 
from her bundle and began to read ; but the text 
was soon embellished with marginal sketches of 
rocks and bits of scenery, and then both reading 
and drawing had to give place to the consideration 
of the pictures that came thronging into her mind. 

Hr. Bogstad had actually proposed to her the 
rich and handsome Hr. Bogstad ; and she, the insig 
nificant farmer girl, had refused him, had run away 
from him. Signe Dahl, she ruminated, aren't you 
the most foolish child in the world? He is the 
owner of miles and miles of the land about here. 
The hills with their rich harvest of timber, the 
rivers with their fish, and even the island in the 
lake, are his. To be mistress over it all ah, what 
a temptation. If she had only loved Hr. Bogstad, 
if she had only liked him ; but she did neither. She 
could not explain the reason, but she knew that she 
could not be his wife. 

How could such a man love her, anyway ? Was 
she really so very good looking ? Signe looked down 
into the still, deep water and saw her own reflection 
asking the question over again. There ! her face, at 
least, was but a little, ordinary pink and white one. 
Her eyes were of the common blue color. Her hair 
well, it was a trifle wavy and more glossy than 
that of other girls, but gluck! a stone broke 


her mirror into a hundred circling waves Signe 
looked up with a start. There was Hagbert standing 
half concealed behind a bush. 

"Oh, I see you," she shouted. 

He came down to the water, grinning good- 

"Well," said he, "I didn't think you were so 
vain as all that." 

"Can't a person look at the pebbles and fish at 
at the bottom of the lake without being vain?" and 
she laughed her confusion away. "Say, Hagbert, is 
your boat close by?" 

"Yes, just down by the north landing." 

"Oh, that's good. I thought I would have to 
wait until father came this evening to get home. 
You'll row me across, won't you?" 

"Why, certainly; but I thought you had gone 
to the saeter to stay, at least a week." 

"Yes, but but, I've come home again, you see." 

"Yes, I see," and he looked oddly at her. He 
had also seen Hr. Bogstad set out for the mountains 
two days before, and now he wondered. 

Hagbert fetched the boat, took in his passenger, 
and his strong arms soon sent the light craft to the 
other bank. 

"A thousand thanks, Hagbert," she said, as she 
sprang out, and then climbed up the steep path, and 
watched him pull back. He was a strong, hand 
some fellow, too, a poor fisherman, yet somehow, 
she felt easier in his company than in Hr. Bogstad's. 

Signe found no one at home. Her mother and 
the children had, no doubt, gone to the mainland to 


pick blueberries; so she went out into the garden 
to finish her book. She became so absorbed in her 
reading that she did not see her mother's start of 
surprise when they came home with their baskets full 
of berries. 

"Well, well, Signe, is that you? What's the 
matter?" exclaimed her mother. 

"Nothing, mother; only I couldn't stay up there 
any longer." And that was all the explanation her 
mother could get until the father came home that 
evening. He was tired and a little cross. From 
Hans he had heard a bit of gossip that irritated him, 
and Signe saw that her secret was not wholly her 
own. She feared her father. 

"Signe," said he, after supper, "I can guess 
pretty well why you came home so soon. I had a 
talk with Hr. Bogstad before he went to the saeter." 

The girl's heart beat rapidly, but she said noth 

"Did he speak to you about why did you run 
away from him, girl?" 

"Father, you know I don't like Hr. Bogstad. I 
don't know why; he is nice and all that, but I don't 
like him anyway." 

"You have such nonsensical ideas!" exclaimed 
the father, and he paused before her in his impatient 
pacing back and forth. "He, the gentleman, the 
possessor of thousands. Girl, do you know what 
you are doing when you act like this? Can't you 
see that we are poor; that your father is worked 
to death to provide for you all? That if you would 
treat him as you should, we would be lifted out of 


this, and could get away from this rock-ribbed island 
on to some land with soil on? Our future would 
be secure. Can't you see it, girl? 0, you little fool, 
for running away from such a man. Don't you 
know he owns us all, as it were?" 

"No, father, he does not." 

"The very bread you eat and the water you 
drink come from his possessions." 

"Still, he does not own us all. He does not own 
me, nor shall he as long as I feel as I do now, and 
as long as there is other land and other water and 
other air to which he can lay no claim." 

It was a bold speech, but something prompted 
her to say it. She was aroused. The mother came 
to intercede, for she knew both father and daughter 

"I tell you, girl, there shall be no more foolish 
ness. You shall do as I want you, do you hear!" 

Signe arose to go, but her father caught her 
forcibly by the arm. 

"Sit down and listen to me," he said. 

The girl began to cry, and the mother inter 
posed: "Never mind, father; you know it's useless 
to talk to her now. Let her go and milk the cow. 
It's getting late." 

So Signe escaped with her pail into the little 
stable where the cow had been awaiting her for 
over an hour. But she was a long time milking, 
that evening. 



"Get thee out of thy country, and from thy kindred, and 
from thy father's house, into a land that I will show thee." 
Gen. 12:1. 

Signe Dahl sat in the little coupe of the railroad 
train which was carrying her to Christiania. She 
was the sole occupant of the compartment, her 
big valise resting on the opposite seat. Out through 
the lowered window she looked at the flying land 
scape, a mingling of pine hills, waters, and green 
meadows. An hour ago she had boarded the train 
at Holmen, the nearest station to Nordal. Early 
that morning she had tearfully kissed them all 
good-by and had begun her journey to that haven 
of rest from old country oppressions America. 
She and her mother had planned it, and the father 
had at last given his consent. It was all the out 
come of Hr. Bogstad's persistent devotions to the 
family on the island in the lake. 

Tiring of the scenery, Signe took from a bun 
dle a letter. It had been handed her by the post 
master at Nordal that morning as she drove past, 
and was from Hr. Bogstad, who was in the North 
with a party of tourists. She opened it and read: 

"I wrote you a letter about a week ago, describ 
ing our trip up to that time. I hope you have re 
ceived it. You know I have no eye for the beauti 
ful, but I did the best I could. You should have 
been along and seen it all yourself. 

"And now I write you again, because, dear 


friend, I have heard a rumor from home that you 
are going to America. It is news to me if it is true. 
Dear Signe, don't. Wait, at least, until I can see 
you again, because I have something to tell you 
whether you go or stay. I am coming home as fast 
as steam can carry me. Please, don't run off like 
that. Why should you? I ask myself. But there, 
it's only rumor. You're not going, and I'll see you 
again in a few days, when I shall tell you all about 
the rest of the trip." 

A smile played on Signe's face, but it soon 
changed to a more sober expression. What was she 
to cause such a commotion in the life of a man like 
Hr. Bogstad? That he was in earnest she knew. 
And here she was running away from him. He would 
never see her again. How disappointed he would 
be! She could see him driving from the station, 
alighting at the ferry, springing into a boat, and 
skimming over to the island. Up the steep bank 
he climbs, and little Hakon runs down to meet him, 
for which he receives his usual bag of candy. Per 
haps he gets to the house before he finds out. 

Surely the smile has changed to a tear, for 
Signe has wiped one away from her cheek. 

To Signe, the journey that day was made up 
of strange thoughts and experiences. The landscape, 
the stopping at the stations, the coming and go 
ing of people, Hr. Bogstad's letter, the folks at 
home, the uncertain future, all seemed to mingle 
and to form one chain of thought, which ended only 


when the train rolled into the glass-covered station 
at Christiania. 

With a firm grasp on her valise, she picked her 
way through the crowd with its noise and bustle, 
and placed herself safely in the care of a hackman, 
who soon set her down at her lodgings. 

At the steamship office she learned that the 
steamer was not to sail for three days. So Signe 
meant to see what she could of the city. It was her 
first visit to the capital, and perhaps her last. She 
would make the best of her time. She had no friends 
in the city, but that did not hinder her from walk 
ing out alone. In the afternoon of the second day, 
Signe went to the art gallery, and that was the end of 
her sightseeing to other parts. She lingered among 
the paintings of the masters and the beautiful 
chiseled marble the first she had seen until 
the attendant reminded her that it was time to close. 

That evening the landlady informed her that 
a visitor had been inquiring for her during the day, 
a gentleman. Who could it be? He was described, 
and then Signe knew that it was Hr. Bogstad. He 
had said that he could call again in the evening. 

Signe was troubled. What should she do? He 
was following her, but they must not meet. It 
would do no good. The steamer was to sail tomor 
row, and she would go on board that night. She 
called a carriage and was driven to the wharf. 
Yes, it was all right, said the steward, and she was 
made comfortable for the night. 

Among the crowd of people that came to see 
the steamer sail, Signe thought she caught sight of 


Hr. Bogstad elbowing through the throng to get to 
the ship. But he was too late. The third bell had 
rung, the gangplank was being withdrawn, and the 
vessel was slowly moving away. Signe had con 
cealed herself among the people, but now she pressed 
to the railing and waved her handkerchief with the 

Farewell to Norway, farewell to home and na 
tive land. Signe's heart was full. All that day she 
sat on deck. She had no desire for food, and the 
crowded steerage had no attractions. So she sat, 
busy with her thoughts and the sights about the 
beautiful Christiania fjord. 

Early the next morning they steamed into 
Christiansand, and a few hours later, the last of 
Norway's rocky coast sank below the waters of the 
North Sea. 

All went well for a week. Signe had not suf 
fered much from seasickness, but now a storm was 
surely coming. Sailors were busy making every 
thing snug and tight; and the night closed in fierce 
and dark, with the sea spray sweeping the deck. 

Signe staggered down into the dimly lighted 
steerage. Most of the poor emigrants had crawled 
into their bunks, and were rolling back and forth 
with each lurch of the ship. Signe sat and talked 
with a Danish girl, each clinging to a post. 

"I don't feel like going to bed," said the girl. 

"Nor I. What a night it is!" 

"Do you think we shall get safely across?" 

"Why, certainly," replied Signe. "You mustn't 
be frightened at a storm." 


"I try not to be afraid, but I'm such a coward." 

"Think about something pleasant, now," sug 
gested the other. "Remember where you're going 
and whom you are going to meet." 

The girl from Denmark had confided to Signe 
that she was going to join her lover in America. 

The girl tried to smile, and Signe continued: 
"What a contrast between us. I am running away; 
you are going to meet someone " 

Crash! A blow struck the ship and shook it 
from end to end; and presently the machinery came 
to a full stop. Then there was hurrying of feet on 
deck, and they could hear the boatswain's shrill 
pipe, and the captain giving commands. The steer 
age was soon a scene of terror. Those who rushed 
up the stairs were met with fastened doors, and 
were compelled to remain below. Women screamed 
and prayed and raved. Then the steward came in, 
and informed them that there was no danger, and the 
scene somewhat quieted down. On further inquiry 
it was learned that they had collided with another 
ship. Some damage had been done forward, but 
there was no further danger. However, very few 
slept that night, and when morning broke, clear and 
beautiful, with glad hearts they rushed up into the 
open air. 

The second class was forward. Three of the 
passengers had been killed and quite a number in 

If Signe had not been so poor, and had not 
refused help from Hr. Bogstad, she would have 


taken second class passage. But now, thank God 
for being poor and independent! 

In another week they landed at New York, and 
each went her own way. Signe Dahl took the first 
train for Chicago. 


"The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away." Job 1:22. 

The news startled the young city of Willowby 
from the Honorable Mayor to the newest comer in 
the place. The railroad company had found a 
shorter route to its northern main line, and it had 
been decided to remove, or, at least, to abandon for 
a time, the road running through the valley. The 
short cut would save fifty miles of roadbed and avoid 
some heavy grades, but it would leave the town of 
Willowby twenty-five miles from the railroad. 
Everybody said it would be a death-blow to the 
place. Petitions and propositions from the citi 
zens to the railroad company availed nothing. 

The most diresome predictions came true. After 
the change, the life of the young town seemed to 
wither away. Its business almost ceased. The 
speculator]|whose tenementjfhouses were without 
roof, hurriedly closed them in, and so let them stand. 
Safer is the farmer, in such times. His fields will 
still yield the same, let stocks and values in real 
estate rise and fall as they will. 

Alderman Rupert Ames had been attending the 
protracted meetings of the city council; this, with 


other business, kept him away from home for a 
week. This was the explanation which he gave to 
his mother when he at last came home. 

"Rupert," she said to him, "you must not worry 
so. I see you are sick you're as pale as death now. 
Is there anything the matter, my boy ?" 

Rupert seated himself on the sofa, resting his 
face in his hands, and looked into the fire. He was 
haggard and pale. 

"Mother yes, mother, something's the matter 
but I cannot tell you, I cannot tell you." 

The mother sank beside him. "Rupert, what is 
it, are you sick?" 

"No, dear mother, I'm not sick only at heart." 
He put his arms around her neck and resting his 
head on her shoulder, began to sob. 

It had been a long time since she had seen her 
boy shed tears. 

"Mother," he sprang to his feet and forced 
himself to talk, "I must tell you. The bank has 
failed and and I have not always told you of my 
business transactions, mother. I now owe more 
than we are worth in this world. I have been in 
vesting in real estate. I paid a big price for the 
Riverside Addition, and the paper I asked you to 
sign was a mortgage on the farm to secure a loan. 
Mother, I thought it was a good investment, and it 
would have been had the railroad remained, but 
now property has sunk so low that all we own will 
not pay my debts. And the bank has failed also 

"My son, do not carry on like that. If the 


worst comes, we still have the farm, haven't we?" 

"You do not understand, mother ; our creditors 
can take that, too." 

Then she also broke down, and at sight of her 
tears the son gained control of his own feelings, 
and tried to comfort his mother. She should never 
want as long as he had two strong hands with 
which work, he assured her. All would be right in 
the end. "What I have done, I can do again, mother ; 
and though if it comes to the worst, it will be hard, 
I am young yet, and have life before me." 

For an hour they sat on the sofa with their 
arms around each other, talking and planning ; and 
then when they became silent, the pictures they 
saw in the glowing coals partook of a log house, a 
dreary sagebrush plain, and the building of canals 
and reservoirs. 

The worst did come. They could, perhaps, have 
retained a part of Ames farm, but they decided to 
give up everything, pay their debts, and face the 
world honorably. So, before Christmas, every 
thing had been cleared up, and Widow Ames was 
installed in a neat three-roomed house nearer town, 
for which they paid a monthly rental. 

Miss Virginia Wilton was on a visit to her 
"folks in the East." Rupert both longed and feared 
for her return. In his letters he had said nothing 
about the change in his affairs. He would wait until 
her return, and then he would explain it fully to 
her. He had decided, for her sake, to propose to her 
the postponement of their marriage until spring. 
He would certainly be better prepared then. It 


would be a sacrifice on his part, but Virginia would 
be wise enough to see its advisability. Yes, they 
would counsel together, and Virginia's love would 
be the power to hold him up. After all, the world 
was not so dark with such a girl as Virginia Wilton 
waiting to become his wife. 

The day after her return to Willowby, Rupert 
called on her. Mrs. Worth, the landlady, responded 
to his knock, and said that Virginia had gone out 
for the day. She was, however, to give him this 
note if he called. 

Rupert took the paper and turned away. He 
would find her at some neighbor's. He carefully 
broke the envelope and read : 

Dear Mr. Ames: 

As I have accepted a position to teach in an 
other state, I shall have to leave Willowby tomor 
row. I shall be too busy to see you, and you have 
too much good sense to follow me. Forget the past. 
With kindest regards, I am, Virginia Wilton. 

Nina was married on the first of the year. 
Widow Ames died about two weeks after. 

And so life's shifting scenes came fast to Ru 
pert Ames; and they were mostly scenes of dreari 
ness and trial; but he did not altogether give up. 
Many of his friends were his friends still, and he 
could have drowned his sorrow in the social whirl; 
but he preferred to sit at home during the long 
winter evenings, beside his fire and shaded lamp, 


and forget himself in his books. He seemed to be 
drifting away from his former life, into a strange 
world of his own. He lost all interest in his sur 
roundings. To him, the world was getting empty 
and barren and cold. 

The former beautiful valley was a prison. The 
hills in which his boyhood had been spent lost all 
their loveliness. How foolish, anyway, he began 
to think, to always live in a narrow valley, and 
never know anything of the broad world without. 
Surely the soul will grow small in such conditions. 

Early that spring, Rupert packed his posses 
sions in a bundle which he tied behind the saddle 
on his horse and bade good-bye to his friends. 

"Where are you going, Rupe?" they asked. 

But his answer was always, "I don't know." 


"No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but 
grievous: nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable 
fruit of righteousness unto them that are exercised thereby." 
Heb. 12:11. 

Rupert Ames had ridden all day, resting only 
at noon to permit his horse to graze. As for him 
self, he was not tired. The long pent-up energy 
had begun to escape, and it seemed that he could 
have ridden, or walked, or in any way worked hard 
for a long time without need of rest. Move, move 
he must. He had been dormant long enough; think 
ing, thinking, nothing but that for months. It 


would have driven him mad had he not made a 
change. Where was he going? No one knew; Ru 
pert himself did not know; anywhere for a change; 
anywhere to get away, for a time, from the scenes 
and remembrances of the valley and town of Wil- 

At dark he rode into a village at the mouth of 
a gorge. Lights gleamed from the windows. A 
strong breeze came from the gorge, and the trees 
which lined the one stony street all leaned away from 
the mountain. Rupert had never been in the place 
before, but he had heard of Windtown. Was 
there a hotel? he asked a passer-by. No; but they 
took lodgers at Smith's, up the hill. At Smith's he, 
therefore, put up his horse and secured supper and 
bed. Until late at night he walked up and down 
Windtown's one street, and even climbed the cliffs 
above the town. 

Next morning he was out early, and entered 
the canyon as the sun began to illumine its rocky 
domes and cast long shafts of light across the chasm. 
A summer morning ride through a canyon of the 
Rockies is always an inspiration, but Rupert was 
not conscious of it. Again, at noon, he fed his horse 
a bag of grain, and let him crop the scanty bunch- 
grass on the narrow hillside. A slice of bread 
from his pocket, dipped into the clear stream, 
was his own meal. Then, out of the canyon, and 
up the mountain, and over the divide he went. All 
that afternoon he rode over a stretch of sagebrush 
plain. It was nearly midnight when he stopped at 
a mining camp. In the morning he sold his horse 


for three twenty-dollar gold pieces, and with his 
bundle on his back, walked to the railroad station, 
a distance of seven miles. 

"I want a ticket," said he to the man at the 
little glass window. 

"Where to?" 

"To to well, to Chicago." 

The man looked suspiciously at Rupert, and 
then turned to a card hanging on the wall. 

"Twenty-eight-fifty," he said. 

Two of the gold pieces were shoved under the 
glass, and Rupert received his ticket and his change. 

In the car, he secured a seat near the window 
that he might see the country. It was the same 
familiar mountains and streams all that day, but 
the next morning when he awoke and looked out 
of the car windows, a strange sight met his gaze. 
In every direction, as far as he could see, stretched 
the level prairie, over which the train sped in 
straight lines for miles and miles. "We must be 
in Kansas," he thought. "What a sight, to see so 
much level land." 

But what was he going to do in Chicago? To 
see the world, to mingle in the crowd, to jostle with 
his fellow-beings what else, he did not know. 

Chicago! What a sight to the man of the moun 
tains! Streets, houses, people and the continuous 
din and traffic of the city nearly turned his head 
for a time. What an ideal place in which to lose 
one's self. Rupert had a bundle no longer, but in 
his pocket just fifteen dollars and ten cents. He 
kept well out of the clutches of the sharpers in the 


city, and lived quite comfortably for a week, seeing 
the sights of the wonderful city. Then, when his 
money was getting low, he tried to get work, as he 
wished to remain longer. But Rupert was a farmer, 
and they were not in demand within the city limits. 
Outside the city, Rupert fell in with a body of trav 
elers who were going West walking, and riding on 
the trains when they had a chance. He joined 
them. Somehow, he had ceased to consider what his 
doings might lead to, and as for misgivings as to 
the company he was keeping, that did not trouble 
him. For many days there was more walking than 
riding. Rupert was not expert at swinging himself 
under the cars and hanging to the brakebeams, so 
he traveled with the more easy-going element, who 
slept in the haylofts at night and got what food 
they could from farmhouses, though Rupert hoarded 
his little store of money and usually paid for what 
he got. Then he lost all track of time. It must have 
been far into the summer when Rupert separated 
from his companions, and found himself at the base 
of the mountains. Here he spent his last cent 
for a loaf of bread. 

That night Rupert felt a fever burning within 
him, and in the morning he was too weak to travel. 
He, therefore, lay in the hay which had served him 
for a bed until the sun shone in upon him; then he 
again tried to get out, but he trembled so that he 
crawled back into the loft and there lay the whole 
day. Towards evening he was driven out by the 
owner of the barn. Rupert staggered along until 
he came to another hayloft, which he succeeded in 


reaching without being seen. All that night he 
tossed in fever and suffered from the pains which 
racked his body. The next day a farmer found him, 
and seeing his condition, brought him some food. 
Then on he went again. His mind was now in a 
daze. Sometimes the mountains, the houses, and 
the fences became so jumbled together that he could 
not distinguish one from the other. Was he losing 
his mind? Or was it but the fever? Was the end 
coming? and far from home, too Home? he had 
no home. One place was as good as another to him. 
He had no distinct recollection how he got to the 
usual hayloft, nor how long he lay there. It was 
one confused mass of pains and dreams and fan 
tastic shapes. Then the fever must have burned 
out, for he awoke one night with a clear brain. 
Then he slept again. 

On awakening next morning and crawling out, 
he saw the sun shining on the snow-tipped peaks 
of the mountains. He had dreamed during the night 
of his mother and Virginia and Nina, and the dream 
had impressed him deeply. His haggard face was 
covered with a short beard; his clothes were dirty, 
and some rents were getting large. Yes, he had 
reached the bottom. He could go no further. He 
was a tramp a dirty tramp. He had got to the 
end of his rope. He would reach the mountains 
which he still loved, and there on some cliff he would 
lie down and die. He would do it would do it! 

All that day he walked. He asked not for food. 
He wanted nothing from any man. Alone he had 
come into the world, alone he would leave it. His 


face was set and hard. Up the mountain road he 
went, past farmhouse and village, up, farther up, 
until he reached a valley that looked like one he 
knew, but there was no town there, nothing but a 
level stretch of bench-land and a stream coursing 
down the lower part of the valley. Groves of pines 
extended over the foothills up towards the peaks. 
Up there he would go. Under the pines his bones 
would lie and bleach. 

He left the wagon road, and followed a trail 
up the side of the hill. The sun was nearing the 
white mountain peaks. An autumn haze hung over 
the valley and made the distance dim and blue. The 
odor from the trees greeted him, and recalled mem 
ories of the time when, full of life and hope, he had 
roamed his native pine-clad hills. He was nearing 
home, anyway. The preacher had said that dying 
was only going home. If there was a hereafter, it 
could be no worse than the present; and if death 
ended all, well, his bones would rest in peace in this 
lone place. The wolf and the coyote might devour 
his flesh let them and their night howl would be 
his funeral dirge. 

Far up, he went into the deepest of the forest. 
The noise of falling waters came to him as a distant 
hymn. He sat on the ground to rest, before he made 
his last climb. Mechanically, he took from his 
pocket a small book, his testament his sole remain 
ing bit of property. He opened it, and his eyes fell 
on some lines which he had penciled on the margin, 
seemingly, years and years ago. They ran as follows : 


" "Tig sorrow builds the shining ladder up, 
Whose golden rounds are our calamities." 

And the passages to which they pointed read: 

"My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord, nor faint 
when thou art rebuked of him; for whom the Lord loveth he 
chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receive th. If ye 
receive chastenings, God dealeth with you as with sons, for what 
son is he whom the father chasteneth not?" 

The book dropped from the reader's trembling 
grasp. It was then that the Angel of Mercy said, 
"It is enough/' and touched the young man's heart. 
The long pent-up spring burst forth, and Rupert 
sobbed like a child. By a huge gray rock sheltered 
by the pines, he uttered his first prayer to God. 
For a full hour he prayed and wept, until a peaceful 
spirit overpowered him, and he slept. 

Rupert awoke with a changed heart, though he 
was weak and faint. Evening was coming on and 
he saw the smoke curling from the chimney of a 
farmhouse half a mile below. Painfully, he made 
his way down to it. 

A young man was feeding the cows for the 
night, and Rupert went up to him, and said: 

"Good evening, sir; have you any objection to 
my sleeping in your barn tonight?" 

The man eyed him closely. Tramps did not 
often come to his out-of-the-way place. 

"Do you smoke?" 

"No, sir." 

"Then I have no objection, though I don't like 
tramps around the place." 


"Thank you, sir." 

The man moved off, but turned again. "Have 
you had any supper?" he asked. 

"No; but I do not care for anything to eat, 
thank you". 

"Strange tramp, that," said the man to himself, 
"not to want anything to eat. Well, go into the 
shanty and warm yourself, anyway." 

In the shanty, Rupert found an old stove glow 
ing with a hot fire, by the side of which he seated 
himself. The night was chilly in that high altitude, 
and Rupert spread out his palms to the warmth. 
Inside the house, he heard the rattle of dishes and 
the voices of women. Then strains of songs floated 
out to him, and he became an intent listener. Soon 
from out the humming came two sweet voices, sing 
ing. Rupert sat as one spellbound, as the song 
seemed to melt into his soul : 

"O my Father, thou that dwellest 

In the high and glorious place! 
When shall I regain thy presence, 

And again behold thy face? 
In thy holy habitation, 

Did my spirit once reside; 
In my first primeval childhood, 

Was I nurtured near thy side. 

"For a wise and glorious purpose 

Thou hast placed me here on earth, 
And withheld the recollection 

Of my former friends and birth; 
Yet ofttimes a secret something 

Whispered, You're a stranger here; 
And I felt that I had wandered 

From a more exalted sphere. 


"I had learned to call thee Father, 

Through thy Spirit from on high; 
But until the Key of Knowledge 

Was restored, I knew not why. 
In the heavens are parents single? 

No; the thought makes reason stare. 
Truth is reason; truth eternal 

Tells me I've a mother there. 

"When I leave this frail existence, 

When I lay this mortal by, 
Father, mother, may I meet you 

In your royal courts on high? 
Then, at length, when I've completed 

All you sent me forth to do, 
With your mutual approbation 

Let me come and dwell with you." 

The door opened, and a young woman came out 
with a small tin pail in her hand. At sight of Rupert 
she gave a startled cry and backed to the door. 
Just then the young farmer passed through the 
shanty and explained that it was only a "traveler" 
warming himself. The young woman looked steadily 
at Rupert. The fire shone out from the open door 
of the stove, and the light danced on the rough 
board walls, throwing a halo of red around the girl. 
"What a sweet picture," instantly thought 

Then she slowly advanced again, and, instead 
of pouring the contents of the pail into a larger 
dish as was her errand, she placed it on the table 
by Rupert, and said, smilingly: 

"Vil you have a drink of varm milk?" 

"Thank you, thank you." 

Then she went back. 


Warm milk! What could be more delicious? 
Rupert sipped the sweet fluid. How it invigorated 
him and surcharged him with new life. And given 
by such hands, with such a smile! It was a glimpse 
of past glories. 

In the morning Rupert was asked if he wanted 
a job. 

"Yes," was the answer. 

"Can you work on a farm?" 

"I've been a farmer all my life," was the reply. 
"I'm not a tramp, as you understand that term." 

"Well, stay around today and I'll see what I 
can do. I want some help, but I cannot pay high 

"Never mind the wages," said Rupert, "we'll 
agree on that after a while." 

The young farmer saw that he had no common 
tramp to deal with, although he looked rough and 

"I have been sick for the past few days," ex 
plained Rupert, "and if you can trust me, I should 
like to rest up a bit before I go to work. I'm too 
weak to do you much good yet." 

"That'll be all right," was the answer. "I see 
you need something to eat this morning, even if you 
weren't hungry last night. Come with me to the 

So Rupert Ames remained with the farmer and 
did the chores around the house until he became 
stronger, when he helped with the harder work. 
He was treated kindly by them all, and it was not 
long before he mingled freely with the family. 


During this time Rupert realized that his right 
senses, as he called them, were coming back to him, 
and every night he thanked God in vocal prayer for 
his deliverance from a dark pit which seemed to 
have yawned before him. 

The Jansons were newcomers in the West, and 
had much to learn about farming. Mr. Janson was 
a Swede who had been in the country twenty years. 
His wife and her cousin were from Norway, the 
former having been in the country long enough to 
become Americanized; it was two years only since 
the latter had emigrated from her native land, so 
she spoke English with a foreign accent. Her name 
was Signe Dahl (first name pronounced in two syl 
lables, Sig-ne). She attracted Rupert's attention 
from the first. She had a complexion of pink and 
white, blue eyes, soft, light hair; but it was not her 
peculiar beauty alone that attracted him. There was 
something else about her, an atmosphere of peace 
and assurance which Rupert could feel in her pres 
ence. Naturally, she was reticent at first, but on 
learning to know Rupert, which she seemed to do 
intuitively, she talked freely with him, and even 
seemed pleased with his company. 

Two weeks went by, and Rupert proffered to 
remain with Mr. Janson and help him with his har 
vesting. The latter gladly accepted the offer, for he 
had by this time learned that Rupert Ames could 
give him many practical lessons in farming. 

The song that Rupert heard that first evening 
continually rang in his ears. He remembered some 
of the words, and, as he thought of them, strange 


ideas came to him. One evening they were all sit 
ting around the fire in the living room. Rupert had 
been telling them some of his history, and when the 
conversation lagged, he asked the two cousins to 
sing that song about "0 my Father." They readily 

"A most beautiful song," said Rupert at its 
close; "and so strange. It seems to bring me back 
for an instant to some former existence, if that were 
possible. What does it mean: 

'In thy holy habitation, 

Did my spirit once reside; 
In my first primeval childhood 

Was I nurtured near thy side.' 

"What does it mean?" 

"Signe, you explain it," said Mr. Janson. "You 
know, you're a better preacher than I am." 

Signe made no excuses, but went to the little 
bookshelf and took from it two books, her English 
and her Norwegian Bibles. She read for the most 
part from the English now, but she always had the 
more familiar one at hand to explain any doubtful 

"I vill do wat I can, Mr. Ames. I cannot read 
English good, so you must do de reading." She 
opened the book and pointed to the fourth verse of 
the thirty-eighth chapter of the book of Job. Rupert 

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundation of the earth? 
declare, if thou hast understanding. * * * When the 
morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted 
for joy?" 


"Yes," said the reader, "that is a great ques 
tion, indeed. Where was Job? Why, he was not yet 

"Who are de sons of God?" asked Signe. 

"I suppose we all of us, in a sense." 

"Of course; and ve all shouted for joy when 
God He laid de foundation of de earth; so, ve must 
have been der, and known someting about it." 

"Yes, but how could we? We were not yet 

"No; not in dis world; but ve lived as spiritual 
children of our Fader in heaven." 

"I don't know about that," remarked Rupert, 

"Of course you don't. Dat's why I tell you." 

They all smiled at that. Signe again turned 
the leaves of her Bible. "Read here," said she. 

This time it was the first chapter of St. John 
He read the first fourteen verses. 

"Dat vil do; now read here." She returned to 
the sixth chapter, sixty-second verse, and he read: 

"What and if ye see the Son of man ascend up to where 
He was before." 

She turned to another. It was the twenty- 
eighth verse of chapter sixteen: 

"I came forth from the Father, and am come into the 
world: again, I leave the world and go to the Father." 

Still she made him read one more, the fifth 
verse of the seventeenth chapter: 

"And now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self 
with the glory which I had with thee before the world was." 


"Now, vat does it all mean, Mr. Ames?" 

"I see your point, Miss Dahl. Christ certainly 
existed as an intelligent being before He came to 
this earth yes, even before the world was." 

"Certainly; our Savior vas himself as ve. He 
vas born, He had a body as ve, and He also had a 
spirit. God is de Fader of His spirit and it existed 
long ago, as you said. Christ is our Elder Broder. 
Ve are of de same family. If He existed before de 
vorld, why not ve? Dat's right, isn't it?" 

"But couldn't Christ have been the only one 
who had a pre-existence? I believe something is 
said in your book about the Savior being the only 
begotten of the Father." 

"Yes, in de flesh; dat is true, but God is de 
Fader of all spirits who have come to dis world to 
take a body. I can find you many passages to prove 

"Well, I have never thought of these things be 
fore, but it must be true if the Bible means what it 
says. That's a grand principle, Mr. Janson." 

"It certainly is, Mr. Ames. Many people object 
to it; but I cannot see, if we are to exist in a spiritual 
state after we leave this body, why we could not have 
existed before we entered it but Signe, here, is the 
preacher. Her only trouble is with the w's and th's 
She can't get them right yet." 

Signe smiled. "No, Mr. Ames, I'm no preacher. 
It's all so plain to me. De Bible says ve have a Fader 
in heaven, and I believe it. I also believe ve have 'a 
moder der,' as de song says. I can't prove it from de 
book, but I just use my reason on dat." 


It was a new experience for Rupert to hear a 
fair lady expound such doctrine. The whole thing 
charmed him, both the speaker and that which was 
spoken. A new light seemed to dawn upon him. 
What if this life was but a school, anyway, into 
which eternal souls were being sent to be proved, to 
be taught. 

"Have you any other quotations on the sub 

"Oh, yes; it is full," said she. "When you get 
time read Heb. 12:9. Jer. 1:4-5. Eph. 1:3-5 and 
John 9:1-3. I do not remember more now." 

Rupert took them down, and read them that 
night before he went to bed. And each day he 
saw a new horizon; and the sweet-faced Norwegian 
was not the least factor in this continued change of 
mental vision. "God bless her," he said to himself, 
"God has sent her to me for a purpose;" and he began 
to add to his prayers that he might so live that he 
would be worthy of the blessings which, seemingly, 
were coming his way. 


"Even so faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone " 
James 2:17. 

Chamogo Valley lies on the edge of the great 
arid region of America. At the time of Rupert 
Ames' arrival in the valley, full crops were never 
certain, and during some years, rain was so scarce 


that there were no crops at all. The Chicago real 
estate dealer who had sold Mr. Janson his land had 
not enlightened him on this fact, and so he had al 
ready lost the best part of two years' work by failure 
of crops. Rupert Ames learned of all this from Mr. 
Janson, and then he wondered why advantage was 
not taken of the stream in the bottom of the valley 
for irrigation purposes. 

One day it was near the end of the harvest, 
and they were pitting their last potatoes Rupert 
asked Mr. Janson if the adjoining lands could be 

"Why, yes," was the reply. "I was offered 
nearly the whole valley for a small sum, but I have 
all the land I care to handle. You see, this region 
would be different if we could rely on the moisture, 
but we can't, and I am nearly tired of it myself. Do 
you want to buy me out?" This with a laugh. 

"Can you raise money enough to buy this whole 
valley?" asked Rupert seriously. 

"Yes; I could get it." 

"Then I am going to propose something to you." 

Whereupon Rupert pointed out that the rich 
bench lands on each side of the river could be brought 
under cultivation, and crops secured every year by 
bringing the water from the stream in canals, and 
watering, or irrigating them. Mr. Janson listened 
with wonder at Rupert's description of Dry-bench 
reservoir, and how simple it would be to construct 
canals by which to water Chamogo valley. 

"This valley can be made to support a good- 
sized population," said Rupert. "By securing the 


land and digging canals to it, and then selling it out 
in farms again well, if you don't make a hundred 
per cent on your investment, I am mistaken." 

They had many talks on the scheme, and at last 
it was decided to try it. Rupert would supervise the 
construction of the canals. He would remain during 
the winter, do what work could be done before the 
snow came, and then continue the work in the spring. 

The land was secured at a small outlay. The 
canal was surveyed and a little digging was done that 
fall. When the snow came, Rupert rode twenty- 
one miles to the county seat, took the teachers' exam 
ination, received a certificate, and obtained the Cha- 
mogo district school for the winter. It was a new 
experience for him, and a trying one at first. The big 
boys came to school to get out of the storm, and in 
cidentally, to learn something of the three R's. They 
were often wild, but Rupert managed them without 
doing any "licking," the usual mode of discipline. 
He now wrote to his sister Nina, and told her that 
he was located for the winter; that he expected to 
get back to Willowby, but not for a time. 

So the winter months passed. Rupert studied 
his own lessons when he was not preparing for his 
day's work. He made frequent visits to the Jansons, 
though it was a good three miles' drive. He was al 
ways received as a friend, and, indeed, was treated 
as one of the family. 

Was it strange that a tie should grow between 
Rupert Ames and Signe Dahl? Was it anything out 
of the way that Rupert's trips became more frequent, 


and that the fair-haired Norwegian looked longingly 
down the road for the school-master's horse? 

Rupert did not try to deceive himself. It had 
been a year only since his experience with Virginia 
Wilton. He had thought that he never would get 
over that, but even now he could look back on it with 
indifference, yes, even with thankfulness. This love 
which seemed to be coming to him was different from 
that first experience. He could not explain this dif 
ference, but he knew that it existed. Rupert had no 
misgivings. Signe did not thrill him, did not hold 
him spell-bound with her presence. No; it was only 
a calm, sweet assurance that she was a good girl, that 
he loved her, and that she thought well of him. Their 
conversations were mostly on serious, but deeply in 
teresting subjects. Signe, in common with her cou 
sin and Mr. Janson, had religious views of her own, 
which were peculiar, at least to Rupert. Nothing 
more than the common doctrines of the Christian 
denominations had Rupert ever heard. Signe knew 
her Bible well, and she could find wonderful things 
within its lids, teachings which were new to Rupert, 
but which opened to him a future, a bright, glorious 
future, full of possibilities. Besides, they explained 
to him many of the mysteries of life and answered 
many of its hard questions. 

Thus one evening it was Friday, and he lin 
gered longer on that evening Mr. and Mrs. Janson 
were visiting neighbors, and Rupert and Signe were 
alone. They sat by the kitchen stove, and the blaz 
ing pine wood made a lamp unnecessary. Signe had 
received a letter from home which she had translated 


to Rupert. Her father had long since forgiven her. 
The few dollars she sent home now and then multi 
plied to quite a few kroner by the time they reached 
Norway, and they helped the struggling family. 
After old country topics had been exhausted, the con 
versation had drifted to religious themes, and es 
pecially to the doctrine expressed in the song "O my 
Father;" but they now sat silently looking into the 
fire. Their chairs were not far apart, and it was an 
easy matter for Rupert to lay his hand over Signe's 
fingers that rested on the arm of her chair and draw 
them closely into his big palm. 

"Signe," he said, "if we ever lived as intelligent 
beings in a pre-existent state and I now can not 
doubt it, we two knew each other there. Perhaps 
we were the closest friends, and I have just been let 
ting my imagination run wild in contemplating the 

"Let me tell you someting thing. Did I get 
tha-at right?" 

"You get the th as well as I, and the w's trouble 
you no more." 

"Only sometimes I forget. I was going to say, 
you remember the first night you came here?" 

"I certainly do;" and he pressed her fingers a 
little closer. 

"Well, I seemed to know you from the first. 
Though you looked bad and like a tramp, I knew you 
were not, and I felt as if I had known you before." 

They were silent again, "reading life's meaning 
in each other's eyes." 

Signe filled the stove from the box beside it. 


"You remember that book you gave me to read 
the other day, Signe?" 

"Yes; what do you think of it?" 

"I have been thinking considerably about it. It 
sets forth gospel doctrine altogether different from 
what I have ever heard; still it agrees perfectly with 
what Christ and His disciples taught. You know, I 
have always been taught that man is a kind of pass 
ive being, as regards the salvation of his soul; that 
everything has been done for him; that, in fact, it 
would be the basest presumption on his part to at 
tempt to do anything for himself; that man is with 
out free agency in the matter; that he is simply as a 
lump of clay, and with little more intelligence or act 
ive powers." 

"I know all about such teachings," said Signe, as 
she went for her Bible. They were drilled into me in 
the old country." 

"Now," continued he, "I see that such doctrines 
lower man, who is, in fact, a child of God. I cannot 
perceive that an Allwise Parent would thus take 
away the agency of His children. We have a motto 
in school which says: 'Self effort educates/ and I be 
lieve that to be the only principle upon which we can 
safely grow, if we are to become like unto our Eter 
nal Father." 

"Yes," answered Signe, "but you must remem 
ber one thing, that 'as in Adam all die, even so in 
Christ shall all be made alive.' The resurrection 
from the dead comes through Christ without any 
effort on our part. We were not responsible for 
Adam's transgression, therefore we are redeemed 


from its effects through the atonement of Christ, all 
mankind are, both good and bad all will arise and 
stand before God to be judged by the deeds done in 
the body." 

"Yes; I admit all that; but it is hardly plain to 
me what we must do to be freed from our individual 
sins. We are in the midst of sin. We are in a mor 
tal state and partake of our surroundings. Now, 
there must be a plan by which we may be rid of 
these imperfections, for if we are ever to live in the 
presence of God, it seems to me that we must be 
pure and holy, without sin." 

Signe had her book open. "I will read here an 
answer to your question," she said. "You remember 
that on the day of Pentecost when the Holy Spirit 
was given, Peter preached to a large crowd of people. 
Many of them believed, and being pricked in their 
hearts, they said: 'Men and brethren, what shall we 
do?' You know they are not the only ones who have 
asked that question." 

"No, you are right." 

" 'And Peter said unto them, Repent, and be 
baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ 
for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the 
gift of the Holy Ghost.' That's plain enough, isn't 
it? Words can make it no clearer. When Peter saw 
that they had faith, he told them to repent, then be 
baptized for the remission of their sins, then they 
would get the Holy Ghost." 

"And the promise was to them and to their 
children and to them that were afar off. Signe, is 


it not to us also?" Rupert asked, eagerly, "why 
shouldn't it be?" 

"The promise is not limited it is to you and to 
me. I, Rupert, have obeyed Peter's word, and have 
received the promise. You may do the same, and the 
same blessings will follow. The gospel is a law, a 
natural law, and oh, such a beautiful one!" 

"Why haven't I heard this before?" exclaimed 
he. "Why isn't it written in our books, and taught 
us in our childhood? Signe, I am a bit bewildered 

"Rupert," said she, with a smile that had some 
thing of sadness in it, "the world is 'Ever learning 
but never able to come to the knowledge of the 
truth.' 'Darkness has covered the earth and gross 
darkness the people.' 'And as with the people, so 
with the priest.' 'The earth also is defiled under the 
inhabitants thereof; because they have transgressed 
the laws, changed the ordinance, broken the everlast 
ing covenant.' Is there any wonder that you have not 
heard these doctrines before? Though you may read 
about them in the Bible, the world has been without 
their living presence for many hundreds of years. 
But a new time has come to the world. The gospel 
in its fulness and purity has been restored. We read 
here that John, on the Isle of Patmos, saw that in 
the latter days an angel would 'fly in the midst of 
heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach to 
them that dwell on the earth.' That angel has come, 
Rupert, that gospel has been restored; and what I 
have been telling you are the teachings of that gos 
pel. Man is again endowed with power from on 


high to preach the gospel and administer its ordi 
nances to those who believe." 

Rupert listened with deepest interest. He be 
came as a disciple at her feet. They talked far into 
the night, and when Mr. and Mrs. Janson came 
home they found them bending low over the fire 
reading from the "good old book." Their heads were 
close together, the dark-brown one and the one 
of soft, silken tresses. 


"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I 
have kept the faith."// Tim. 4:7. 

Rupert was now continually thinking of the 
great questions of life. Never before had he been 
so stirred in his feelings; never before had he con 
templated life in the light which now came to him. 
His heart was full of love, gratitude, and praise 
which swelled within him, and seemed to take pos 
session of his whole being. 

The winter passed, and Rupert closed his school. 
He came to the conclusion that school teaching was 
not his forte, though the people were satisfied with 
his work. He longed to be out digging ditches. He 
liked it far better, and conjectured that in this world 
his mission was to make the physical deserts to blos 
som as the rose. 

During the summer, Chamogo valley did under 
go a change. One side of the valley was brought un 
der irrigation, and a number of farms were sold at 


a good profit. Mr. Janson did right by Rupert, 
and together they worked and prospered. 

And that which now filled Rupert's cup of hap 
piness was the fact that he had rendered obedience to 
the gospel of Jesus Christ, and had received the 
promised gifts and blessings following. The light 
that leadeth into all truth was his. With Signe and 
her co-religionists, he could now see eye to eye, all 
having the same glorious hope for the future. 

One more winter passed; and when nature had 
spread her robe of green over Chamogo valley, prep 
arations were made for the ceremony that would 
make Rupert and Signe husband and wife. Rupert 
longed to see Willowby and Dry Bench once more, 
so it was decided that after they had visited the 
Temple of God and had been sealed to each other 
for time and all eternity, they would take a trip to 
Rupert's old home. They were married in the Tem 
ple. Within its sacred walls they experienced more 
fully than ever before what still sweetness there is 
in the ministrations of the Spirit of God. 

They reached Willowby late in September. He 
had written Nina when he would be there, and she 
and her husband were at the station to meet them. 

There were tears in their eyes at the meeting. 

"Nina, this is my wife," said Rupert. "Signe, 
my sister, Mrs. Furns." 

A number of Rupert's old friends were there 
who now came forward and welcomed him home. 

Then they rode through the valley behind two 
spirited grays. Nina had not changed much, but she 


declared that had she met her brother on the street, 
she would not have known him. 

"What has changed you so, brother?" asked she. 

"Experience, Nina, experience with the world. 
I have lived a long time in the two and a half years 
that I have been away but never mind that now. 
Everything looks the same hereabouts. I seem to 
have been absent but a few days. How strange it is! 
Signe, there you see Willowby, on that rise; quite a 
town yet. How's Dry Bench, James?" 

"Much the same, Rupe. No improvements 
since you left." 

"And the reservoir?" 

"As you left it, though it needs repairing 

In the few moments of silence that followed, 
Rupert contrasted his condition now with what it 
was when he left the place. What a change! He 
was wiser if not much older. And then he had a 
wife and he looked lovingly at her as he thought 
of all she had done for him. As they drove into 
town, friends greeted him and seemed pleased at his 
return. Married? Yes; that is his wife. Not so 
dashing as Miss Wilton, but far more charming, was 
the general expression. 

That evening there was quite a social gathering 
at Nina's. 

Early next morning, before others of the house 
hold were astir, Rupert and Signe went up to Dry 
Bench. A beautiful morning greeted them. They 
walked up towards the hill that they might get a 
good view of the farm, and when they turned, Dry 


Bench was before them. The trees had grown, but 
otherwise it was the same scene that he had looked 
upon many and many a time. The memory of a 
particular morning came to him the morning when 
Miss Wilton's horse had run away. Miss Wilton 
had never been heard of since she left Willowby. 

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Signe. "Do you 
know, Rupert, it reminds me of a scene in Norway. 
I must make a sketch here before we leave." 

"Sit down on this rock," said he, "while I tell 
you something. Here's my overcoat." He made a 
seat for her and he stood by her side. 

"Signe, nearly six years ago, I stood here on this 
spot. I was the owner of the farm that you see. In 
fact, I dug this ditch. I set out that orchard, I 
planned and built the reservoir that has made all 
this possible; and then I stood here, and in the pride 
of my heart I said : 'All this is mine. I have done it 
all.' Now I understand that God put me on trial, 
lent me some of His riches to try me, and then, see 
ing that I was not in a condition to stand such favors, 
took them all from me. Yes, it was a blessing in 
disguise. Darling, for this knowledge I am indebted 
to you," and he leaned over and kissed her. 

"There you are wrong again," she said; "what 
about God above?" 

"You are right. 'Tis He only who should have 
our gratitude. You have been but an instrument in 
His hand. I see it all. O Father, forgive my foolish 
thoughts." He uncovered his head, as if in prayer. 

He sat down with her on the stone. The smoke 
began to rise from the chimneys of the town below, 


and soon the Dry Bench farm-houses showed signs 
of life. He pressed her cheek against his own. 

"Sweetheart," said he, " 'When love has blended 
and molded two beings in an angelic and sacred 
union, they have found the secret of life; henceforth 
they are only the two terms of the same destiny, the 
two wings of one mind. Love and soar.' That is 
from Victor Hugo; how true it is." 

After a time they went down to the old home. 
A Mr. Temming was living there, as a renter. He 
was not acquainted with Mr. Ames, and was not dis 
posed to show much courtesy, so they left. 

"What do you think of the place?" he asked. 

"I like it." 

"Could you live there?" 

"All my life, I could. Rupert, I see you in every 
tree, fence, and ditch." 

He laughed at that. 

"I can now buy the place. Shall I?" 

"Yes, do." 

"You don't object? Would you really like to 
live there?" 

"I think, my dear, that you can do much good 
here. We ought to live where we can do the most 

And so it was settled. Next day Rupert in 
quired after the owner of the farm which once was 
his, and learned that it was in the hands of a real 
estate dealer. He made his way to the office and 
knocked at the door, which was partly open. A man 
was sitting at a desk, but he evidently did not hear, 
so Rupert stepped into the room, at the same time 


giving the door another loud rap. Still the man did 
not hear. 

"Good morning, sir," said Rupert. 

The man turned. 

"Volmer, Volmer Holm, is it you?" 

"Rupert Ames, I'm pleased to see you. When 
did you come to town? Have a chair." 

"Are you in the real estate business?" 

"I can't hear very well, and you'll have to speak 
at close range, Rupe." 

So they put their chairs close together, and Ru 
pert repeated his last question. 

"Yes, a man must do something; but there's 
nothing going on now nothing in our line." 

Rupert looked in pity at his friend. Quite shab 
bily dressed he was, and a careworn expression on 
his face made him look ten years older. He wore 
glasses, which he pushed up on his forehead, and 
then took a good look at Rupert. 

"Well, well, Rupe, and where have you been 
keeping yourself? An' I've had luck, I tell you you 
haven't heard, perhaps?" 

"No; I haven't. What's it been, Volmer?" 

"Was getting fifty dollars a week leading the 
orchestra at the Grand in Chicago, when I got sick. 
Don't know what it was, Rupe the doctors didn't 
know. Got into my ears, and that knocked me 
couldn't tell one note from another; so, of course, 
that let me out. Hard luck, Rupe, hard luck. Tough 
world this, Rupe. Why God Almighty crams a fel 
low's head full of music, and then disables him so's 
he can't make use of it, I don't know I don't know." 


Rupert sympathized with his friend, and then 
told him of his errand. A ray of sunshine seemed to 
enter the musician's life. The property was for sale, 
yes, and cheap, dirt cheap; so the transaction was 
partly arranged, and Volmer Holm went home to his 
wife and four children with quite a happy heart that 

"It's too bad about Volmer Holm," said Rupert 
to his sister. "I had not heard of his misfortune. 
Such a genius in music, too." 

"Well, I don't know," answered Nina, "it may 
be all for the best. Rumor had it that he was fast 
getting into bad ways in Chicago; and some men are 
better off by being poor, anyway." 

"Yes, that's so," was all he said. 

Rupert Ames was again the owner of Dry Bench 
farm, and the next spring they moved into the old 
home. Mr. and Mrs. Janson came with them to visit, 
but their interests in Chamogo would not allow of a 
protracted stay. Signe was already in love with her 
new home. With her taste for the artistic, she soon 
had the place comfortable, and Rupert was never 
more satisfied than when he came in where his wife's 
adept fingers had been at work to adorn. It was the 
dear old home to him with an added beauty, lacking 
only his mother's presence to make it perfect. 

Then they sent for Signe's family. It was hard 
for the father to make ends meet in his native land, 
and Rupert needed just such help as Hr. Dahl could 
give. In due time they arrived, and were installed 
in a cottage near Rupert's farm. 


In peace and prosperity, the days, months, and 
years went by; and Rupert Ames became a light to 
the surrounding world, and a teacher of righteous 
ness to his brethren. 

It was the sixth year after Rupert's return that 
the citizens of the Bench decided to enlarge the res 
ervoir in Dry Hollow. Rupert was given the work 
to supervise, and he entered upon the task with his 
usual energy. 

That morning in September, when he gave his 
wife the usual departing kiss, the children four of 
them, were hanging about his legs and clinging to 
his coat in great glee. 

"Now papa must go," said he, as he tried to 
shake them off. 

"A kiss, another kiss," "A tiss, some more 
tisses/' they shouted. 

So he lifted them up, one by one, and kissed 
them again. Then his arm went around his wife's 
neck, and he drew her face to his. 

"Goodbye, sweetheart," said he, "take care of 
the children, and don't forget me," and he tried to 
hum a song as he walked to the gate. Signe stood 
watching him. The tune which floated back to her 
was, "0, my Father." Then a peculiar feeling came 
over her, and she sat down crying, while the children 
climbed over her with questions and comforting 

Terrible news from Dry Hollow! A blast, pre- 


maturely exploded, had seriously injured some of 
the workmen, and Rupert Ames had been killed 
hurled down the ravine and nearly buried under fall 
ing rock. 

Break the news gently to his wife and children. 
Do not let them see that bruised, bleeding form. 
Spare them all you can. 

Yes; it was all done all that lay in human 
power was done; and hundreds of people to whom 
Rupert Ames had opened up new light, and in the 
providence of God, had given them a tangible hope 
of the future, gathered around his body and mingled 
their tears with those of his children's. 

Another immortal soul's earthly mission was 
ended. Life's school had closed for him. Into an 
other sphere he had gone. The Great Schoolmaster 
had promoted him. 

And Mrs. Signe Ames, after it all, simply said: 

"God knows best. He has but gone before. He 
was my husband for time, he is my husband for 
eternity. His mission is there, mine is here. In the 
morrow, we shall meet again." 


"Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every 
creature." Mark 16:15. 

Hr. Henrik Bogstad leaned back in his chair 
before the fire in great relief. He had just shown 
out a young man who was distributing religious 
tracts dealing with some "new-fangled religion" 
lately imported from America, that land of all new- 


fangled things. All the day, Hr. Bogstad had been 
adjusting some difficulties among his tenants, and 
that evening he was somewhat ill-humored. His 
treatment of the missionary, was, therefore, harsher 
than he was wont to treat either strangers or friends. 

His conscience smote him a little as he thought 
of what the young American had said. He could 
find no fault with the religious doctrines advanced, 
but why should he be bothered with religion any 
way? He had cares enough; for a great responsibil 
ity had come to him since he had been put in charge 
of the estate left by his father's death. Just now 
was the season of gaiety in Christiania, and here he 
was missing a good many things by his enforced 
visit to his country home. 

After musing for some time, he got up and went 
to the window. Outside, the snow covered every 
thing the fields, the roads, the frozen lake and river. 
The houses were half hidden, and the pines on the 
hill bore up great banks of snow. From the window 
the view was beautiful in its solemn whiteness. From 
the white level of the distant frozen lake, broken 
patches of brown protruded. These were the islands 
on one of which Signe Dahl had lived. Henrik won 
dered what had become of her, and where in the big 
America she had taken up her abode. He had heard 
that she was well and happy, but further than that 
he had not set himself to learn. Long ago he had 
put behind him philosophically his affair with Signe. 
He had ceased to think of her as anything more than 
a sweet, yet strange girl who could resist such an 
offer as he had extended to her. 


As Henrik was looking out of the window, he 
saw the young stranger who had visited him less 
than an hour ago, returning down the road. Just as 
he was about to pass, Henrik hailed him and asked 
him to come in again, meeting him at the door. 

"Come in," he said; "I want to talk with you." 

The missionary placed his grip on a chair and 
seated himself on another. 

"I was somewhat cross with you when you 
called," said Henrik. "I don't want you to think 
that I am rude, especially to strangers." 

"I was not the least offended," smiled the 

"I'm glad to hear it. Now I want you to tell me 
something about America. I've never been there, 
though I expect to go some day. I have some friends 
and a good many relatives over there. From what 
part do you come?" 

"I am from Wyoming." 

"That's away out west, isn't it?" 


"Two uncles of mine live in Minnesota, but 
that's a long way from Wyoming. Where are you 
staying here, for the night?" 

"I am a traveling minister of the gospel and I 
stay wherever there is an opportunity." 

"Then you'll stay with me tonight. I am not 
much on religion, but if you will mix a little infor 
mation about America with your preaching, I shall 
be pleased to listen to you." 

These conditions were easily agreed to. So, 
after a good supper, the two young men seated them- 


selves comfortably by the shaded lamp on the library 
table. The missionary spread out his book of views 
and explained each of the pictures. He told of the 
great stretch of arid land in western America, of 
the ranches, of the high mountains, of the fertile 
valleys made fruitful by irrigation, and of the won 
ders of the great Salt Lake. 

"This is the Temple." 

"Yes; and what is that for?" 

The purposes of temples were explained. 

"You say you baptize for the dead?" enquired 
Henrik, "How is that?" 

"Well, as I was telling you when I called on 
you some time ago " 

"Pardon me, but I must confess that I did not 
pay enough attention to what you said to remember. 
I was thinking about those quarreling tenants of 
mine. Tell me again." 

The other smiled good-naturedly, and did as he 
was asked. Henrik listened this time, and was in 
deed interested, asking a good many questions. 

"Now, about the Temple," continued the mis 
sionary "we believe that every soul that has ever 
lived on the earth, that is living now, or that will 
ever live must have the privilege of hearing this gos 
pel of Jesus Christ. There is only one name given 
under heaven by which men may be saved, and every 
creature must hear that name. Now, the great ma 
jority of the human race has never heard the gos 
pel; in fact, will not hear it in this life." 

"Where, then, can they hear it?" 

"In the great spirit world. Christ, when He 


was put to death went and preached to the spirits 
in prison those who were disobedient in the days 
of Noah and were destroyed in the flood; and no 
doubt the saving power of Christ has been pro 
claimed in that spirit world ever since. Among those 
who hear, many will believe. They have faith, they 
repent of their sins, but they can not be baptized 
in water for the remission of their sins." 

"No; of course not." 

"And yet Christ definitely said that unless a 
man is born again of water and of the spirit he can 
not enter into the kingdom of God. What is to be 

The listener, leaning over the table, merely 
shook his head. 

Paul speaks in I Cor. 15:29 of some who were 
baptized for the dead and that is a correct prin 
ciple. The living may be baptized for the dead, so 
that those who have left this world may receive the 
gospel in the spirit world and have the birth of the 
water done for them vicariously by someone in the 

"This is strange doctrine." 

"Temples are used for these baptisms. The 
Latter-day Saints are busy tracing back as far as 
possible their lines of ancestry, and then they are 
going into their temples for they have already 
four of them and are doing this work for their 
dead. In this way is being fulfilled Malachi's pre 
diction that Elijah the Prophet should come before 
the great and dreadful day of the Lord, 'and He shall 
turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and 


the heart of the children to their fathers/ lest the 
Lord come and smite the earth with a curse. You 
will find this in the last chapter of the Old Testa 

The lamp burned late into the night as these 
two men sat by it talking; and the conversation was 
not, as one of them had planned, for the most part 
about the land of America and its material oppor 


"Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he 
hath, he cannot be my disciple." Luke 14-'SS 

"I cannot understand him," Frue Bogstad was 
saying. "His actions are so strange." 

"It's simply wicked of him," added Froken Sel- 
ma Bogstad. "He is bringing the whole family into 

The mother did not reply, but turned her face 
thoughtfully away from the angry daughter. 

"The boy is completely carried away with this 
American religion," continued the girl, pacing ner 
vously back and forth in the room "Pastor Tonset 
called to see him the other day, and you ought to 
have heard them! The pastor, as our friend, came to 
advise him; but do you think Henrik would take any 
advice? Why, he even argued with the pastor, say 
ing that he could prove the truth of this religion 
from the Scriptures." 

"Has he talked to you about it?" 


''Yes; and he wanted me to accompany him to 
Osterhausgaden where these people hold meetings. 
I told him definitely and forcibly that I didn't want 
him to mention religion to me." 

"He seems to be in such deep earnest." 

"And that's the pity of it. It does no good to 
talk to him. He takes it for granted that he should 
be persecuted. I believe he is ready to give up every 
thing for this creed that has him in its grasp." 

A violent ringing of the bell brought Selma to 
the door. It was Henrik, who had forgotten his 
latch key. He hung up his hat, wiped the perspira 
tion from his face, for it was a warm evening; then 
he said cheerily: 

"Spring is coming; I feel it in the air. I'll be 
glad to get out to Nordal there is so much to do 
this summer " 

"Young man," interruped the sister, "we have 
been talking about you." 

"About my wickedness, I suppose." 

"About your foolishness. It isn't very pleasant 
for us what you're doing." 

"What am I doing? That which is unkind to 
you, mother?" He placed his arms lovingly around 
her shoulders, but she sat without replying, her face 
in her handkerchief. He turned to Selma. 

"What have I done?" he asked. "Do I drink? 
Do I gamble? Do I steal? Do I lie? Do I profane? 
Do I treat any of you unkindly? Am I disrespectful 
to my mother or my sister?" 

"You associate with a people known every 
where as the scum of the earth," snapped the sister, 


as she stood in front of him. "You are disgracing 
us the whole Bogstad family you but what's 
the use of talking to you." 

"Not a bit of use that way, dear sister. Sup 
pose you answer some of my questions. You accuse, 
but never bring proof. You would rather believe 
uninformed people than me. You accept hearsay, 
but will not listen to the truth I wish to tell you. I 
have asked you to point out some of the bad things 
taught by the Latter-day Saints, but so far you have 
never tried. I have invited you to go with me " 

"Do you think I would thus disgrace myself to 
appear in their meetings!" 

"You will not even read a simple tract; you 
close your eyes and ears. You push God from you 
when you say that He does not reveal Himself any 
more; and so does Pastor Tonset and all his follow 
ers. Because I am willing to receive light, even 
though it comes from a 'sect everywhere spoken 
against,' I am a bad man. I tell you, my sister, and 
also you, my mother, I may be looked upon as a dis 
grace to the Bogstad family, but the time will come 
when you and all that family will thank the Lord 
that one member of the family heard the truth, and 
had courage enough to accept it!" 

Selma walked to the door, and now passed out 
without replying. Henrik sat down by his mother, 
and the two continued to converse in low, quiet 

The mother's hair was white, the face pinched 
from much suffering, the hands shrunken. Selma's 
talk disturbed her, as did that of a score or more of 


interested relatives; but when she talked with Hen- 
rik alone she was at peace, and she listened quietly 
to what he told her. She was so old and weak and 
traditionated in the belief of her fathers that she 
could grasp but feebly the principles taught her by 
Henrik; but this she knew, that there was something 
in his tone and manner of speech that soothed her 
and drove away the resentment and hardness of 
heart left by the talk of others. 

"You know, mother," Henrik was saying, "this 
restored gospel answers so many of life's perplexing 
questions. It is broad, full of common sense, and 
mercy. Father, as you well know, was not a religious 
man. When he died, Pastor Tonset gave it as his 
opinion that father was a lost soul " 

"Father was a good man." 

"I know he was, mother; and to say that be 
cause he could not believe in the many inconsisten 
cies taught as religious truths, he is everlastingly 
lost, doesn't appeal to me never did. Father, as 
all of us, will continue to learn in the spirit world 
to which all must go; and when the time comes, he 
will, no doubt, see the truths of the gospel and ac 
cept them. And here is where the beauty of true re 
ligion comes in: it teaches that there is hope beyond 
the grave; that salvation is not limited to this life; 
that every soul will have a chance, either here or 
hereafter. You, mother, have worried over father's 
condition. Don't do it any more; he will be all 
right." He felt like adding that she had more rea 
son to worry over the living, but he said no more. 

Selma came in with the coffee, and no further 


discourse was had on religious topics. Although 
Henrik had quit using coffee with his meals, he oc 
casionally sipped a little in the company of his 
mother. This evening he took the proffered cup from 
his sister, who soon withdrew again, and then Hen 
rik and his mother continued their talk. It was 
along the lines of the old faith, grounded into them 
and their forefathers since Christianity had been 
"reformed" in their country. As a boy, Henrik had 
not been religious, as that term was understood by 
his people, but nevertheless he had in him a strain 
of true devotion which the message of the American 
missionary had aroused. However, this revival 
within the young man did not meet with the favor 
of his friends, and he was looked upon as having 
come under the influence of some evil, heretical 
power, much to their regret. 

"Marie is here," announced Selma from the 

Henrik arose. "Where is she? I did not know 
she was in town." 

"She is in the east room." 
"Tell her to come in." 
"She says she wants to see you alone." 
"All right. Good night then, mother. Pleasant 
dreams to you." 

Henrik found Marie sitting by the open window 
looking over the tops of the shrubbery in the garden. 
The light from the setting sun bathed her in its 
glow, increasing the beauty of an already beautiful 
face. Henrik stepped up behind the girl and placed 


his hands under her chin. She did not turn her 

"This is a surprise," he said, "but I am so glad 
to see you. Did you have a pleasant time at Skar- 

There was no reply. The young woman still 
surveyed the garden and the darkening shadows on 
the lawn. 

"What is the matter, little girl?" he asked. He 
felt the trembling of her chin as she removed his 

"No," she replied, "I did not have a good time." 

"I'm sorry. What was wrong?" 

"You were not there you were somewhere else, 
where your heart is more than with me you were, 
no doubt at Osterhausgade." She hardened her 
tone as she proceeded. 

"Oh, I'm not there all the time," he laughed. 

"You think more of the people you meet there 
than you do of me, at any rate." 

"What makes you think so?" 

"You, and your actions. 0, Henrik, could you 
but hear the talk I hear it, and people look so 

strangely at me, and pity me I can't stand it!" 

She arose as if to escape him, walked across the 
room, then sat down by the center table. He closed 
the window blind, then lighted the gas, and seated 
himself opposite her by the table. There was a 
pause which she at last broke by saying: 

"I hear that you are actually going to join those 
horrid people is that true?" 


There was another long silence as they looked 
at each other across the table. 

"Yes," he said. 

"Next week?" 

"That was my intention yes." 

"And we were to be married next month?" 


''Well, I want to tell you, Henrik, that if you 
join those people the wedding day will have to be 

"For how long?" 

"For a long, long time." 

"Well I had thought to be baptized next week; 
but, of course, I can postpone it." 

"For good, Henrik say for good." 

"No; I can't say that; for a little while to 
please you, to let you think a little longer on the 
matter. I want you to choose deliberately, Marie. 
There need be no undue haste. I don't want you to 
make up your mind unalterably to reject me because 
of the step which I am going to take." 

"I have already made up my mind." 


"You must choose between me or " 

"Don't say it, don't; you'll be sorry some day, 
if you do; for the less said, the less there is to re 

Marie arose. "I'm not going to take anything 
back," she answered with forceful anger. "I thought 
you loved me, but I have been mistaken. I shall 
not annoy you longer. Good night." 

He arose to follow her. "You need not come 


with me," she added. "I shall see Selma, and she 
will accompany me home not you." 

"Very well, Marie." 

She turned at the door. "Will you not promise?" 

"Promise what?" 

"Not to do as you said not to disgrace " 

"Marie, where the light shines, I must follow; 
where the truth beckons, I must go. I " 

With a low cry the girl turned and fled from the 


"The Lord alone did lead him. Deut. S2:lg. 

One beautiful summer evening, Henrik Bogstad 
was baptized in the waters of the Christiania fjord. 
After that, the truths of the gospel appeared clearer 
than ever, and still whisperings of the Spirit, to 
which he now had legal right, testified to his spirit 
that he was in the way of salvation, narrow and 
straight perhaps, but glowing with a light that com 
forted and cheered. 

He told none of his family or friends of his bap 
tism. They had already rejected him as far as they 
could, and they asked him no questions. His sister 
would hardly speak to him, and Marie cut him open 
ly. His many uncles, aunts, and cousins were cold 
and unfeeling. His mother, though feeble, and sink 
ing slowly, was the only one of his family that he 
could talk to. She seemed to understand and 
believe him. He felt that in spirit they were one, 


and he received great comfort from the thought. 

About Midsummer the mother died. Then 
Henrik spent most of his time at Nordal. There was 
peace in the solitude of the pine-clad hills, there was 
comfort in the waving fields of grain and the clear- 
flowing streams. The lake spread out to his view 
from his window, and he gazed at its beauty, some 
times his mind wandering from the Dahl home on 
the island westward to unknown America. And 
America had a new meaning for him now. Before, 
it had been simply a new wonder-land, with untold 
possibilities in a material way; but added to this 
there was now the fact that in America the Latter- 
day Zion was to be built; there the people of God 
were gathering, were building temples, preparatory 
to the glorious coming of the Lord. 

Henrik soon caught the spirit of gathering, but 
he quenched it as much as possible. His brethren 
in the gospel advised him to remain where he was 
and do his full duty to his sister and their interests. 
This he tried to do. He would not quarrel with Sel- 
ma, but was exceedingly patient and considerate. 
He would "talk religion" with any of his friends who 
expressed a desire to do so, but he would not contend. 

Henrik mingled more freely with his tenants at 
Nordal, and they soon became aware of a change in 
him. He gave them good treatment. Sometimes, 
there were Sunday services in the large parlor of the 
Bogstad residence, and the people were invited to 
attend. They turned out, it must be admitted, more 
because of Hr. Bogstad's invitation than because of 
any enthusiasm on their part. 


Henrik, during this period of comparative lone 
liness, read much. He always carried a book in his 
pocket when out among the hills and fields, and 
many a moss-covered stone became his reading table. 
He had procured a number of English books which he 
delighted in, for they brought to him much that had 
not yet been printed in his own language. 

After the harvesting was over that summer, 
Henrik directed his attention to another line of work, 
pointed out to him by the New Light. He gathered 
the genealogy of his forefathers. His was a large 
family, and when he searched the old church records 
at Nordal, at Christiania, and at a number of other 
places he found that the family was an old and 
prominent one, reaching back to the ancient Norse 
men. He derived a peculiar satisfaction in this 
work, and he extended his researches until he had 
a large list of names on his mother's side as well as 
on his father's. "Among these there are many noble 
and true," thought Henrik. "Many will receive the 
gospel in the spirit world, and all will have the op 
portunity. I shall have the necessary earthly work 
done for them. If my labors for the living will not 
avail, my dead ancestors shall have their chance. 
Who knows but even now the gospel is being preach 
ed to them, and many of them are looking eagerly 
for someone to do their work for them." The 
thought filled him with enthusiasm. 

The following spring Selma married, which 
left Henrik quite alone. He met Marie at the wed 
ding festivities. She was silent and quiet. He made 
no strong efforts to win her back to him, so they 


drifted apart again. Then Henrik arranged his af 
fairs so that he could remain away for some months. 
He said he was going to America to visit his uncles 
in Minnesota, and yes, very likely he would go 
farther west. His friends shook their heads misgiv- 
ingly, but he only smiled at their fears. 

Henrik sailed from Christiania in company with 
a party of his fellow-believers, and in due unevent 
ful time, landed in the New World. He found Amer 
ica a wonderfully big and interesting country. He 
went directly westward first, crossing the great 
plains and rugged mountains to the valleys beyond. 
Here he found and visited many of his former 
friends. He lived with the Latter-day Saints in 
their homes, and learned to know their true char 
acter and worth. 

Then he saw the temples in which the Saints 
were doing a saving work both for the living and 
the dead. While in conversation with some of the 
temple workers, he told them of what he had in the 
way of genealogy, which they commended highly, 
telling him that he had an opportunity to do much 
good for his family. 

"I am glad to hear you say that," replied he, 
"for you know, this work for the dead was what 
first impressed me in the gospel. It came to me nat 
urally, it seems, for I had no trouble in accept 
ing it." 

Henrik learned much regarding the manner of 
procedure in this temple work. He could do the 
work for the male members of his family, but a 


woman must officiate for the female members. This 
was the true order, he found. 

"Your sister or your wife or any other near 
relative would be the person to help you in this," 
said his informant. 

Henrik shook his head. "I am the only member 
of the family that has received the gospel," he re 

"Then, of course, any other sister in the faith 
will do; but the blessings for doing this work be 
longs to the nearest kin, if they will receive it. Have 
you no relatives in America?" 

"Yes; a lot of them are up in Minnesota, but 
none that I know are Latter-day Saints but I'll go 
and find out," he added as an afterthought. 

And that is what Henrik did. Within a month 
he was on his way. He found his Uncle Ole living 
not far from St. Paul. He was a prosperous farmer 
with a family of grown-up sons and daughters who 
were pleased to see their kinsman from the home 
land. All the news from all the family had to be told 
from both sides. Henrik was shown the big farm 
with its up-to-date American machinery and meth 
ods. He was driven behind blooded horses to the 
city and there introduced to many people. They 
knew that Henrik was a person of some importance 
back in Norway, and they wanted to show him that 
they also were "somebody." That seemed to be the 
principle upon which they lived. The father and 
mother still belonged to the Lutheran church. The 
three daughters had joined a Methodist congregation 


because their "set" was there. The two boys at 
tended no church. 

Henrik was disappointed. He saw plainly that 
here was no help for him. All these were entrapped 
by the world. At first, Henrik said nothing about 
his own religious faith, but after a time he spoke of 
the subject to one of his girl cousins. She was not 
the least interested. He tried another with the 
same result. Then, one day at the table, he told 
them all plainly what he believed and what he was 
called. They were merely surprised. "That's all 
right," said his cousin Jack who voiced the universal 
opinion, "we live in a free country, you know, where 
one's religion isn't called into question." 

Henrik's other uncle lived in the city. He was 
a mechanic, having worked for years in the railroad 
shops. Some months previous he had been dis 
charged, and since then he had operated a small 
"tinker" shop of his own. Uncle Jens lived in a 
small rented house. Uncle Ole's visits to his brother 
were far between. "Brother Jens is shiftless," 
Uncle Ole said. 

Henrik was, however, made welcome in the 
humble home, and he soon found the family a most 
interesting one. His uncle was a religious man, 
having, as he put it, "got religion" some years ago 
at a Baptist revival. He had joined that church 
and was an active member in it. The wife and some 
of the children were devout believers. They in 
dulged in long family prayers and much scriptural 
reading. This branch of the Bogstad family called 
the wealthy farmer and his children a "godless lot." 


Uncle Jens' oldest daughter, one about Henrik's 
own age, did not live at home, therefore he did not 
see her. He was getting well acquainted with the 
others, but Rachel he did not know. 

"I must meet Rachel, too," he said one day to 
his uncle. "Where can I find her?" 

"She works in a down-town department store; 
at night she stays with some friends of hers. The 
fact is that Rachel is peculiar. She is not one with 
us. She has been led astray " 

"Oh!" cried Henrik. 

"She is not a bad girl no, no; but she has been 
led away into a false religion, and as she will talk 
and argue with us all, I thought it best that she stay 
away from our home until she comes to her senses; 

"What is this religion that has caused her to err 
so badly?" 

"Why, she calls herself a Latter-day Saint." 


"Yes; I've tried to reason with the girl, but it's 
been no use." 

"I want to see her now, today," said Henrik. 
"Give me her address." 

"Shall I go with you?" 

"No, I can find her, you need not bother." 

Henrik obtained the proper directions, and set 
out immediately. Was there then one other of his 
family that had received the gospel one that could 
help him? He boarded a car, getting off at the store. 
Going to the department in which she worked, he 
asked the floor-walker where he could find Miss Bog- 


stad. Then he saw her behind a counter, resting for 
a moment, unoccupied. Though she was an American, 
Henrik could see the Norwegian traits in his fair 
cousin. She was of the dark type, with round, rosy 
lips and cheeks, and heavy, brown hair. 

"I am your cousin Henrik from Norway," he 
said as he shook her hand. 

Her smile burst into a soft, merry laugh as she 
greeted him. "I am glad to see you," she said. "I 
heard you were here, but thought perhaps I might 
not get to meet you." 

He held her hand a long time, as he looked into 
the pretty, sweet face. Had he been an American, 
he would, no doubt, have kissed her then and there; 
but being a Norwegian, he only looked his wonder 
and pleasure. 

They could not talk much because customers 
had to be served; but Henrik lingered until closing 
time, saying he would walk home with her that they 
might talk. She expressed her pleasure at the prop 
osition; and promptly at the closing gong, she don 
ned her wraps and joined him. The day was warm, 
and he suggested a walk around by the park, where 
they might sit down on a bench under the trees. 

It was a difficult matter for seriously minded 
Uncle Jens and his family to laugh, and even a smile 
was seldom seen on their faces; but here was one 
who seemed bubbling over with merriment one 
whose countenance shone as if from an inner light 
of happiness. 

"Rachel," said Henrik, "your father has told 
me about you." 


"Yes," she replied with sobering face, "they 
think I am a very bad girl, but " 

"Look here cousin, don't make any apologies. 
I know, and understand." 

He asked her some questions about herself, all 
of which she answered frankly. Then he told her 
about himself, which she first met with an aston 
ished stare. He narrated his experiences in Nor 
way, of his trip westward, and the real purpose of 
his coming to Minnesota. She heard his story with 
alternating smiles and tears, as it touched her heart. 
They sat thus for a long time, oblivious to the sing 
ing birds above, of the curious passers-by, or the 
fast falling night. They walked home in the lighted 
streets, and it was late when he bade her goodnight 
at the gate. 

The next day Henrik had a talk with Uncle 
Jens which ended in the uncle's closing with a bang 
the open Bible on the table out of which they had 
been reading, and then in uncontrolled rage order 
ing his nephew out of the house. Henrik tried to 
make peace with his uncle, but it proved useless, so 
he took his hat and left. 

Henrik met Rachel again that evening, and 
again they sat on the bench under the trees. Once 
again they became lost to all outward disturbances 
in the deep concerns which brooded in their hearts 
and found utterance in their speech. 

"I shall remain here a few days more," said he 
in conclusion, "because I want to get better ac 
quainted with you; and then we must talk over our 
plans further. Then I shall go back to Norway. In 


a few months I shall come back, and we two shall 
go westward where the Temples are, and there be 
gin the work that is ours the work that the Lord 
has called us to do. What do you say to that?" 

"Thank you," she replied simply, and with her 
usual smile; "I shall be ready." 


"Rend your heart and not your garments, and turn unto 
the Lord your God: for he is gracious and merciful, slow to 
anger, and of great kindness." Joel f,:13. 

On Henrik's arrival in Norway, the harvesting 
was in full swing, and he busied himself with that. 
His friends, some of whom were surprised at his re 
turn, asked him what he had found in America, and 
he told them freely. Had he discovered the delusion 
in his American religion? No, he replied, his faith 
had been made stronger. Selma had relented some 
what, she making him welcome at her home in 
Christiania. Here he also met Marie. Henrik 
treated her as a friend with whom he had never had 
differences. When she saw him back again, browned 
and hardy, but the same gentle Henrik, Marie won 
dered, and by that wonder her resentment was mod 
ified, and she listened to his accounts of America 
and his relatives in Minnesota with much interest. 
As he spoke with an added enthusiasm of his cousin 
Rachel, the listeners opened their ears and eyes. He 
told them freely of his plans, and what he and 
Rachel were going to do. 


"Yes," he said, "I can see the hand of the Lord 
in my finding Rachel." Marie had her doubts, but 
she said nothing. "It is all so wonderful to me, and 
I am only sorry that you folks can't see it!" But 
they replied nothing. 

Henrik wrote often to Rachel, and the letters 
which he received in reply he usually handed to Sel- 
ma, and Marie, if she was present. They pro 
nounced them fine letters. "She must be a jolly 
girl," they said. 

"She is," he affirmed; "the most religious and 
yet the merriest girl I have ever met. That seems 
a contradiction, but it isn't." Then he went on ex 
plaining, and they could not help listening. Henrik 
studied the two young women to see what impres 
sion he might be making. On Selma there was very 
little, but he believed Marie was overcoming some 
of her prejudice. Selma told him that Marie loved 
him as much as ever, and that if he deserted her, 
it would break her heart. 

"But Selma," he exclaimed, "I have never de 
serted her. It was she who broke the engagement." 

"How could she do otherwise; but she has 
been waiting, and will still wait in hope." 

"I, too, shall do that," he said. 

That fall Henrik again sailed for America. Go 
ing westward by way of Minnesota, he called for Ra 
chel and took her with him. In one of the Temple 
cities they found lodgings with some of his friends, 
and then they entered upon their work for their an 
cestors. Henrik had a long list of them, and so they 


were kept busy nearly all the winter. At the end of 
three months, Henrik asked Rachel if she was tired 
and wanted a rest. 

"Oh, no," she said; "I believe I can do this work 
all my life. It isn't always easy, but there is so 
much joy and peace in it. I believe the angels are 
with us, and I don't want better company." 

And so these two were very much contented. 
They sent letters home telling of the "glorious" time 
they were having, and the work they were doing. 
At the opening of spring, Henrik left Rachel to con 
tinue the work, he having to go back to Norway. 
He asked her if she desired to return to her folks in 
Minnesota, but she said no, not yet. 

The early spring months found Henrik in Chris- 
tiania. He made a trip to Denmark on genealogical 
research which proved quite successful. The first 
of June found him back to Nordal. 

Midsummer Night came clear and cool. Henrik 
was in Christiania, and was to be one of a party to 
spend the night on the hills above the city. Marie 
was not with them, and Henrik enquired the reason. 

"She is ill," said Selma. 

"111? Where is she?" 

"At home. I think you should go and see her." 

"Does she want me?" 


Henrik excused himself from the party and went 
immediately to Marie. He found her on the veranda, 
reclining on a couch. The lamp-light from an open 
window fell on a pale face, startling in its changed 
expression. He silently took her hand, her fingers 


tightening in his grasp. She looked him steadily in 
the face, her swimming eyes not wavering. Then 
Henrik knew that he loved this girl yet. For a long 
time he had tried to forget her, tried to root out his 
love for her, tried to think that she was not for him. 
"I'll not try again," he had thought, "for twice now 
have I been disappointed;" but now a flood of com 
passionate love engulfed him, and he, too, clung to 
the fingers in his grasp. 

"I am sorry to see you like this," he said, "what 
is the matter?" 

"I don't know." 

"Doesn't the doctor know?" 

She shook her head with a faint smile. "Sit 
down, Henrik, I want to talk to you," she said. 

He took the low chair by her side. The mother 
looked at them from the door-way, but did not come 

"I want you to forgive me," she said 

"That has been done long ago." 

"Thank you now listen. I have been wrong, 
wickedly wrong, it seems to me listen! I have not 
been honest, neither with you, nor myself, nor with 
the Lord which is the worst of all. I understood 
much that you taught me of the restored gospel It 
seemed so easy to my understanding; but my pride 
was in the way, and I would not accept the light. 
I pushed it away. I kept saying to myself, 'It isn't 
true,' when I knew all the time that it was. That's 
the sin I have committed." 

"My dear" 

"You remember that book you asked me to read? 


Well, I read it through, though I led you to believe 
that I did not. It is a beautiful book, and true, every 
word. * * * Perhaps you will not believe me 
when I tell you that I have been a number of times 
to your meetings in Osterhausgade. Once when you 
were there I thought you would see me," she 
smiled. "And I could find no faults, though at first 
I went looking for them * * * Now, I've told you. 
You have forgiven me, you say; but will the Lord?" 

"Yes; the Lord is good." 

"When I get better if I do I am going to join 
the Church as you have done. That is the right 
thing to do, isn't it?" 


"And then, may I go to where you and your 
cousin Rachel are working for the dead? When 
when are you to be married?" 

"Married? To whom?" 

"Why, to your cousin Rachel. Are you not go 
ing to marry her?" 

"Certainly not never thought of it for a mo 

"Oh, dear, I must have made another mistake. 
Forgive me." She lay back on her cushions. 

"Marie, when I get married, it's you I want for 
my wife. I have told you that before, and I haven't 
changed my mind. You shall be mine, if you will 
come back to the sweet days of long ago. Will you?" 

He leaned over the couch, and she drew his face 
to hers. "Yes," she whispered. 

At the end of an hour's conversation wherein 
much had been said, Marie asked: "May I go with 


you to the temple and there help you in the work you 
are doing? I believe I could help a little." 

It was at that moment that the curtain lifted 
from the eyes of the mortal, and Henrik saw for an 
instant into the pre-existent world. A group of spir 
itual beings was eagerly engaged in conversation, 
and from out that group he heard the voice of one 
answering Marie's question. 

"Yes; I think so; but we shall see." 


"A friend of mine in his journey is come to me." Luke 11 :6. 

The next time Henrik went to the valleys of the 
mountains in western America, Marie accompanied 
him. They were married in the Temple, made man 
and wife for time and eternity by the authority of 
the Priesthood. That event was among their su 
premely happy ones. Rachel witnessed the cere 
mony, and the smile on her face was sweeter than 

After that, Marie helped in the temple work as 
she had desired. The three then labored together 
until Henrik's list of names was nearly exhausted 
After a very pleasant visit among friends, Henrik 
and Marie went back to Norway and to Nordal. 
They made a new home from the ancient one on the 
hillside by the forest, and for them the years went 
by in peace and plenty. Sons and daughters came 
to them, to whom they taught the gospel. In time 


many of his kin also believed the truth and accepted 
it, and thus the seed that was sown in humility, and 
at first brought but small returns, gave promise of 
a bounteous harvest. 

Once every four or five years, Henrik and Ma 
rie visited the Saints in the West, and spent some 
time in the temple. These were happy times for 
Rachel ; who continued to live alone, not making 
many intimate acquaintances. Henrik was glad to 
provide for her simple necessities, so that she could 
continue her life's work in behalf of the dead. 

Rachel did not marry. Once in Minnesota, a 
young man had made love to her, but she could not 
return that love, so she was in duty bound not to 
encourage him. Rachel was hard to get acquainted 
with, a number of young men had said. She was 
always happy and smiling, and yet a closer knowl 
edge of her character disclosed a serious strain that 
puzzled her admirers for Rachel had admirers. A 
number of times good men had been about to make 
love to her in earnest, but each time some strange 
feeling had checked them. The young woman was 
"willing" enough but what could she do? There 
was without doubt a "man" for her, but she could 
not go in search of him. As the years went by, and 
with them her youth and somewhat of her beauty, 
she was often sad, and sometimes heart-hungry; and 
at such times she found no peace until she had 
poured out her heart to her heavenly Father, and 
said, "Thy will be done but make me satisfied." 

After an absence of three years Rachel visited 
her home in Minnesota. She was received kindly, 


the parents being no doubt grateful that she had es 
caped alive from the clutches of those "terrible 
people" whom she had been among. She could still 
smile and be happy, be more patient than ever, tak 
ing in good part the ridicule and sometimes the 
abuse directed toward her. She talked on the gospel 
with those who would listen, and after a time she 
found that she was making a little headway. Her 
father, at the first, told her emphatically that she 
was not to "preach her religion" in his house; but 
he would sometimes forget himself and ask her a 
question, which in being answered would lead to a 
gospel discourse. Then, awakening to what was 
going on, he would say, "That will do. I thought I 
told you that we wanted none of your preaching," 
at which Rachel would smilingly look around to the 
others who were also smiling at the father's incon 

During this visit the good seed was planted, 
from which in due time the Lord gave an abundant 
harvest from among the Bogstad family and its 
many ramifications. 

One day in the temple Rachel met Signe Dahl 
A.mes. It was Rachel's custom to keep a lookout for 
sisters who were new to the work that she might 
assist them. Signe had not been in the Temple 
since the day she was married, and now she had 
come to do some work for her family. Rachel met 
her in the outer room with a pleasant greeting. 

"I am Sister Bogstad," she said; "and what is 
your name?" 


"Bogstad, did you say why why, my name is 

"Yes, Bogstad," replied Rachel, noticing the 
sister's surprise. "We haven't met before, have we?" 

"No; I think not. The name is not common, 
and I used to know a gentleman by that name 
that's all." 

"You're a Norwegian," said Rachel. 


"So am I; though I was born in this country, it 
may be possible that I belong to the family which 
you know." 

"I used to know Henrik Bogstad of Nordal, 

"That's my cousin. We have been doing work 
here in the temple." 

Signe was greatly surprised, and Rachel led her 
to a corner where they talked freely for some time. 
During the day they found occasion to continue their 
conversation, and that evening Signe went home 
with her new-found friend. 

This was the beginning of a beautiful friend 
ship. Rachel knew enough of Henrik's little ro 
mance with Signe to make the acquaintanceship 
unusually interesting; besides, there came to be a 
strong affinity between the two. Rachel accom 
panied her friend to Dry Bench, and there soon 
became "Aunt Rachel" to Signe's four beautiful 
children. Then she wrote to Henrik, telling him of 
her wonderful "find." He replied that at their next 
visit to America, they would surely give Dry Bench 
a call. 


Henrik, Marie, and two of the older children 
came that fall when the peaches were ripe and the 
alfalfa fields were being cut. And such delicious 
peaches, and such stacks of fragrant hay they found! 
Amid the beautiful setting of the harvest time, their 
several stories were told, in wonder at the diverg 
ing and the meeting of the great streams of Life. 
The Bogstad children practiced their book-learned 
English, while the Ames children were willing teach 
ers. The boys bathed in the irrigation canal, rode 
on the loads of hay, and gorged themselves with 
peaches. The girls played house under the trees. 
And were it part of this story, it might be here told 
how that, later, Arnt Bogstad and Margaret Ames 
loved and mated but it is not. 

Henrik and Marie lived happily together for 
twelve years, and then Marie was called into the 
spirit world. Henrik was left with five children, 
the youngest but a few months old. With ample 
means, he could obtain plenty of household help, but 
money could not buy a mother for his children. A 
number of years went by, bringing to Henrik new 
and varied experiences. Then on one of his visits 
to the West he found another helpmate for himself 
and children a kind-hearted, sweet-souled young 
woman, born of Danish parents, and reared among 
the Saints in the valleys of the mountains. Then 
the westward call became so strong that Henrik dis 
posed of most of his interests in Norway and moved 
with his family to America, taking up his abode in 
a town not far from Dry Bench. Here they enjoyed 
the association of the Saints, and his children had 


the advantage of companionship of children of the 

Time, and the world with it, sped on. Peace 
and prosperity came to the people of this story. As 
years were added to years, their good works in 
creased, until the Lord said to each of them, Enough. 
Then in their own time and place, they passed into 
the Paradise of God. 


Ye worlds of light and life, beyond our sphere; 

Mysterious country! Let your light appear. 

Ye angels, lift the veil, the truth unfold, 

And give our seers a glimpse of that bright world; 

Tell where ye live, and what is your employ, 

Your present blessing, and your future joy. 

Say, have you learned the name, and tuned the lyre, 

And hymn'd the praise of Him the great Messiah? 

Have love's emotions kindled in your breast, 

And hope, enraptured, seized the promised rest? 

Or wait ye still the resurrection day, 

That higher promise of Millenial sway? 

When Saints and angels come to earth again, 

And in the flesh with King Messiah reign? 

The spirits answered as they soared away 

"We're happy now, but wait a greater day, 

When sin and death, and hell, shall conquered be, 

And earth, with heaven enjoy the victory." 

Parley P. Pratt. 


"They shall be gathered together as prisoners are gathered 
in the pit, and shall be shut up in prison, and after many days 
shall they be visited." Isaiah 24:22. 

The Lord God created all things "spiritually 
before they were naturally upon the earth." He 
created "every plant of the field before it was in the 
earth, every herb of the field before it grew." Be 
fore this "natural" creation "there was not yet flesh 
upon the earth, neither in the water, neither in the 

air; but spiritually were they created and 

made according" to the word of God. In this sec 
ond or "natural" creation all things were clothed 
upon by earthly element, or in other words, the 
spiritual was materialized so that it became dis 
cernible to the natural senses. The spiritual and 
the natural are, therefore, but different states of 
the same forms of life. In the natural world there 
are men, women, beasts of the field, fowls of the air, 
and vegetation in boundless and varied forms. These 
exist before the natural is added upon them; they 
exist after the natural is laid down by the death of 
the body. 

In like manner we find in the spirit world men, 
women, beasts of the field, fowls of the air, and veg 
etation in boundless and varied forms. These things 


are as natural there as they are in earth-life. They 
appeal to spirit nature the same as the "natural" 
prototype appeals to the mortal senses; and this is 
why we may speak of our earth-known friends who 
are in the spirit world and of their surroundings in 
the manner of mortality. 

And what a big world it is! Here are nations, 
tribes, races, and families much larger than in earth- 
life, and just as varied in all that made them dif 
ferent in mortality. Here, as in all of God's crea 
tions, like assemble, dislike keep apart; "for intelli 
gence cleaveth unto intelligence; wisdom receiveth 
wisdom; truth embraceth truth; virtue loveth vir 
tue; light cleaveth unto light; mercy hath compas 
sion on mercy, and claimeth her own." The right 
eous in Paradise have no desire to mingle with the 
wicked in the regions of darkness; therefore they 
go there only as they may be called to perform some 

To the industrious there can be no true pleas 
ure or rest in idleness; therefore, Paradise furnishes 
employment to all its inhabitants. A world of knowl 
edge is open to them into which they may extend 
their researches. Thus they may continue in the 
ever-widening field of learning, finding enough to 
occupy their time and talents. 

An arrival in the spirit world brings with him 
just what he is when he leaves mortality. The sep 
aration of the spiritual part of the soul from the 
earthly body does not essentially change that spirit. 
A person takes with him the sum total of the char 
acter he has formed up to that time. Mortal death 


does not make a person better or worse; it simply 
adds to him one more experience which, no doubt, 
has a teachable influence on him. At death, no per 
son is perfect, even though he is a Saint, and passes 
into the Paradise of God. There he must continue 
the process of eliminating the weaknesses which he 
did not wholly overcome in earth-life. Death will 
not destroy the tendency to tell untruths, or change 
the ungovernable temper to one which is under per 
fect control. Such transformations are not of in 
stant attainment, but are the result of long, patient 

As there are gradations of righteousness and 
intelligences in the spirit world, there must be a 
vast field of usefulness for preaching the gospel, 
training the ignorant, and helping the weak. As in 
the world of mortality, this work is carried on by 
those who have accepted the gospel and who have 
conformed their lives to its principles; so in the 
spirit world, the righteous find pleasant and profit 
able employment in working for the salvation of 

And as they work they must needs talk of the 
glories of the great plan of salvation, made perfect 
through the atonement of the Lord Jesus. That 
which they look forward to most keenly, that about 
which they talk and sing most fervently is the 
time when they also shall follow their Savior 
through the door of the resurrection which He has 
opened for them, when their souls shall be per 
fectly redeemed, and they shall be clothed upon with 
a body of the heavenly order, a tabernacle incor- 



ruptible and immortal with which to go on into the 
celestial world. 

Though the future is most glorious to these 
people, the past is also bright. The hopes of the 
future are well grounded on the facts of the past. 
An ever-present theme is that of Christ's first visit 
to the spirit world, when, having died on the cross, 
He brought life and light and immortality to the 
world of spirits, entering even into the prison house 
where the disobedient had lain for a long time, and 
preached the gospel to them. 

And among these who gloried both in the past 
and in the future were Rupert and Henrik. Often 
they conversed on themes near to their hearts: 

"It must have been a place of darkness? of sad 
despairing hearts, that prison house, before Christ's 
visit to it," said Rupert. "There, as in a pit, dwelt 
those who in earth-life had rejected the truth, and 
who, sinking low in the vices of the world, permitted 
themselves to be led captive by the power of the 
evil one. Noah in his day preached to them, but 
they laughed him to scorn and continued in their 
evil ways. Others of the prophets in their genera 
tions had warned them, but without avail; so here 
were found Satan's harvest from the fruitful fields 
of the earth." 

"I can well imagine that long, long, night of 
darkness," added Henrik. "No ray of hope pierced 
the gloom of their abode. The prison walls loomed 
around and above them, shutting out any glimpse 
of heaven. These had rejected the truth, which 
alone can make men free. They themselves had 


shut out the light when it would have shone in upon 
their vision. They had chosen the evil, and the evil 
was claiming its own. Outside the prison were their 
fellows who had chosen to do the right, basking in 
the light of a clear conscience, enjoying the approval 
of the Lord. These faithful ones were going on to 
eternal perfection. How long would it take the 
prisoners, if they ever were released, to overtake 
those ahead? Between these was a great gulf fixed, 
which, in the ordinary order of things, could never 
be lessened or bridged." 

"But at last the time of mercy and deliverance 
came. I remember how the events of the time have 
been described to me. Just before the coming of 
the Lord, a peculiar, indescribable tremor ran 
through this spirit world as if one pulse beat through 
the universe and that pulse had been disturbed. 
The spirits in prison looked in awe at one another, 
many crouching in terror, fearful that the day of 
judgment had come. The vast multitude of the 
ignorant wondered what the 'peculiar feeling' 
could mean. The righteous, who had been looking 
wistfully for some manifestation of the coming of the 
Lord, whispered to each other, 'The Lord is dying 
for the sins of the world!' 

"Yes; the prophets of every dispensation had 
labored faithfully to prepare the world of spirits 
among whom they lived for the coming of the Lord 
and Savior. There were Adam, Noah, Abraham, 
with those who followed them; there were Lehi, 
Nephi, Mosiah, and the others of their race; there 
were the prophets who had lived among the lost 


Ten tribes; these had all been valiant in earth-life, 
and were faithful yet in the spirit world. The bur 
den of their message in mortality had been the com 
ing of Christ the Redeemer, and now they still 
looked forward with the eye of faith to Him who 
should die for the sins of the world, and who should 
deliver them from the bondage of the grave. They 
understood that the body of flesh which had been 
given them in mortality was necessary for their 
full salvation. Christ would bring to pass the res 
urrection, so that bodies would be restored to them, 
not corruptible as before, but perfected, immortal 
and glorious, a fit tabernacle for the immortal spirit 
with which to go on into the eternal mansions of 
the Father." 

"But oh, that time, brother, when the Son of 
God was dying on the cross! While the earth was 
shrouded in darkness, and the bulk of it trembled 
in sympathy with the death throes of its Maker, 
the spirit world also received the imprint of the ter 
rible event on Calvary as for a moment the whole 
spiritual creation lay in tense expectancy. The usual 
occupations were suspended. Speech became low 
and constrained. Songs ended abruptly, and laugh 
ter ceased. There were no audible sobs, neither 
sighing. Bird and beast were stilled, as if the end 
had come, and nothing more mattered. Then, in a 
little while, the tenseness relaxed, and everything 
went on as before, though much subdued. The 
righteous in the Paradise of God quietly gathered 
themselves together in their usual places of wor 
ship. They clasped each other's hands, and looked 


with trembling gladness into each other's faces. 
There was no fear here: they were ready." 

"And then His actual coming! That which had 
been fore-ordained from before the foundation of 
the world was about to be fulfilled; that which had 
been the theme of the prophets from the beginning 
was at the door; that which the seers of all times 
and nations had beheld in vision was now to be 
realized; that about which poets had sung; that for 
which every pure heart had yearned; that for which 
the ages had waited, was now here! A feeling of 
sweet peace filled the righteous, which expressed it 
self in songs of praise and gladness. Thus they 
watched and waited." 

"Then Jesus stood in their midst, and they be 
held the glorious presence of their Lord. Then there 
came to their hearts a small, sweet, penetrating 
voice, testifying that this was Jesus Christ the Son 
of God who had glorified the name of the Father; 
who was the life and the light of the world; who 
had drunk of the bitter cup which the Father had 
given him; and had glorified the Father in taking 
upon Himself the sins of the world, in which He 
had suffered the will of the Father in all things from 
the beginning. The multitude fell down at his feet 
and worshiped." 

"I have been told that as Jesus entered the 
prison of the condemned in the spirit world, a mur 
mur of greeting welcomed Him. It was timid and 
faint at first, but it increased in volume and force 
until it became a shout. 


" 'Lift up your heads, ye gates, and be ye 
lifted up, ye everlasting doors.' ' 

" 'Hail, hail, to the Lord.' " 

" 'And the King of Glory shall come in.' " 

" 'Who is the King of Glory?' " 

" 'The Lord, strong and mighty.' " 

" 'The Lord, will not cast off forever; but though 
He cause grief, yet will He have compassion, accord 
ing to the multitude of His mercies.' ' 

" 'I will not contend forever, neither will I be 
always wroth.' 

" 'Come and let us return unto the Lord: for 
He hath torn and He will heal; He hath smitten, and 
He will bind us up.' " 

" 'I will heal their back slidings, I will love them 
freely; for mine anger is turned away.' " 

" 'Who is a God like unto Thee, that pardoneth 
iniquity. He retaineth not His anger forever, be 
cause He delighteth in mercy.' " 

" 'Say to the prisoners, Go forth; to them that 
are in darkness, show yourselves. I am He that 
liveth and was dead; and behold I am alive forever- 
more, anew: and I have the keys of hell and death.' " 

"And thus the gates were lifted, and the King 
of Glory entered. And what a radiance shone in 
the gloom! The shades of darkness fled, the chains 
of error dropped asunder, the overburdened heart 
found glad relief, for the Lord brought the tidings 
of great joy to the spirits in prison, offering them 
pardon and peace in exchange for their broken 

"Then they sang: 


' "Hark, ten thousand thousand voices 

Sing a song of Jubilee! 
A world, once captive, now rejoices, 

Freed from long captivity. 
Hail, Emanuel! Great Deliverer! 

Hail, our Savior, praise to thee! 
Now the theme, in pealing thunders, 

Through the universe is rung; 
Now in gentle tones, the wonders 

Of redeeming grace is sung." ' 

"For three days, as counted by earth-time, the 
Redeemer ministered in this spirit world, preaching 
the gospel, giving instructions, and making plain 
the way of His servants to follow. Joy and glad 
ness filled many hearts. Then, when the time had 
fully come, the great Captain of Salvation led the 
way against the enemy of men's souls. He laid low 
the Monster that had for ages kept grim watch at 
the Gates of Death. He broke through the grave 
to the regions of life and light and immortality. The 
Hope of Ages thus went forth conquering; and those 
who followed Him through the resurrection from 
the dead sang: 

" 'Death is swallowed up in victory! 0, death, 
where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy vic 
tory?' " 


"Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For 
he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; 
but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life 
everlasting." Gal. 6:7, 8. 

In the spirit world are Rupert, Signe, Henrik, 


Marie, Rachel and all our friends in their time and 
place. These are employed in joyous activity, as 
they see their field of usefulness continually widen. 
Rupert had done a great work before the others had 
come. He had preached the gospel to many people, 
mostly his ancestors, among whom there had been 
at the time of his arrival among them an awaken 
ing and a desire for the truth. He had traced his 
family back to those who on earth had been known 
as the Pilgrim Fathers, thence through many gen 
erations to the Norsemen of northern Europe. His 
wife's family he had also searched out, and he had 
discovered, greatly to his delight, that her family 
and his met in a sturdy, somewhat fierce, Viking 
chief. Rupert had sought him out, and had told 
him of Christ and His gospel and the Viking had 
been willing to be taught. When Signe had come, 
Rupert had brought her to visit her many-times- 
great-grandmother, who was a beautiful flaxen- 
haired, blue-eyed woman, whom Signe herself some 
what resembled. 

Then when Rupert met and became acquainted 
with Henrik, Marie, and Rachel, he told them of 
what he had done, and how that their vicarious 
work for the dead had fitted so nicely in with his 
preaching, in that many of those for whom they had 
been baptized were those whom he had converted. 
"We have been working in harmony and in conjunc 
tion," exclaimed Rupert, "and God's providence is 
even now clearly justified." What joy was there 
when Henrik and his friends met those for whom 
they had performed the necessary earthly rites! 


Many of these had long ago believed the gospel, and 
their hearts had been turned to their children 
their descendants living on the earth that they 
would remember their fathers who had gone before; 
and these were overjoyed when they met their "sa 
viors," as they called them. Then, there were others 
who had not accepted the work done for them, and 
these were, naturally, not so enthusiastic in their 
greetings. Others there were who were yet in ig 
norance of Christ, of His plan of salvation, and the 
work that had been done for them. These would 
have to be taught and given a chance to accept 
or reject what had been done. 

"You enjoy a happiness that does not come to 
me," said a brother to Henrik, "in that you receive 
the love and joyous greetings of those for whom you 
did work in mortality." 

"Had you no opportunity to do such work?" 
asked Henrik. 

"Yes; but I had no names of ancestry, and the 
truth is, I did not try to get any." 

"You did not do all in your power?" 

"No; I was careless in the matter." 

"If you had only tried, the way would have 
been opened. That is a true principle. We do not 
know what regions of usefulness lie before us if we 
do no exploring." 

Signe and Rachel were closely associated, and 
they performed missions together to their less en 
lightened sisters whose condition was not so favor 
able. These were of the frivolous and foolish wo 
men who had been taken captive by earthly things. 


All their treasures had been of earth, so on earth they 
had to be left, for none could be taken into the spirit 
world; these, therefore, were poor indeed. They 
had nothing with which to occupy themselves: in 
earth-life, wealth, fashion, the gratification of de 
praved appetites and passions, and the pampering 
of worldly vanities had been their chief concern; 
and now that earthly things were no more, these 
women were as if lost in a strange world, having 
no sure footing, groping about in semi-darkness, 
hungering and thirsting, but finding no means by 
which they might be satisfied. They laughed and 
appeared to make merry because it was their nature 
so to do, but their laugh was empty, and their mer 
riment rang hollow and untrue. 

"I am more than ever thankful," said Signe to 
Rachel when they had labored long with a group of 
frivolous women, "that the gospel reached us in 

"And that we accepted it," added Rachel. 

"Yes; many of these sisters of ours are not evil; 
they are just weak, empty of good. Their earthly 
training was at fault. And then some of them have 
told me that they were very much surprised to find 
that death had not worked a transformation in 
them: they have still the same feelings, desires and 
thoughts as before." 

"Some foolish things were taught in earth- 
life," said Rachel, "one of them being deathbed re 
pentance. Common sense, if not reason, ought to 
have told us that a change of heart coming when a 
person is in full possession of his faculties is far bet- 


ter than the confessions made in fear of death. Re 
pentance should have come further back, for the 
sooner we turn about on the right way, the further 
we get on the road to perfection." 

Rachel finished her little speech with a smile 
the simple sweet smile, fixed into her nature for 
all time. A strange sister came up to her, who was 
greeted pleasantly. 

"I want to know more of you two," she said. 
"There is something about you different from me 
or my mates. When you mix with us and talk with 
us, I can feel it, but I don't know what it is. You 
appear to me to be, lilies-of-the-valley among weeds 
yes, that's it." 

"And isn't a weed just a useful plant grown 
wild?" asked Signe. "All it needs is careful culti 
vation. Come with us as we walk along. We shall 
be pleased to talk with you. We are not very wise, 
but we may always ask the brethren who are wiser, 
for more light." 

And so these three went slowly along the beau 
tiful paths of spirit-land, conversing as they went. 
The hazel eyes of the brown-haired stranger opened 
in wide astonishment at what her sisters told her. 
Sometimes she asked questions, sometimes she shook 
her head in disbelief. She had been a "worldly" 
woman, she told them, never thinking that there 
would be any life other than the one she was living 
while on the earth; and so she had shaped her daily 
conduct by that narrow standard. Her earth-life 
had ended sadly, and existence had been bitter ever 
since, "Restless and hopeless, I have wandered for 


a long time," she said. "I have seen you two a num 
ber of times and have heard you talk to the women. 
Your words seemed to bring to me a glimpse of 
something better, but I never had the courage to 
speak to you until now." 

Signe put her arms around her, drew her close, 
and kissed her cheek. "Let us do you all the good 
we can," she said. "We are going now to attend 
a meeting where my husband is to speak. Come 
with us." 

Rachel linked her arm into that of the stranger's 
who willingly accompanied them. "Is your husband 
also a preacher?" she asked of Rachel. 

"I have no husband," was the reply. "I did 
not I mean, he did not find me, has not found me 
yet." Rachel was somewhat confused but she smiled 
as ever. 

"She means," explained Signe, "that she did 
not marry while in earth-life, for the very good rea 
son that she had no chance " 

"None such that I could accept," added Rachel. 
Then as the newly-found friend looked at her in 
quiringly, she continued: 

"I have always believed, and I believe now, that 
I have a mate somewhere, but he has not yet been 
revealed. Frequently I asked the Lord about it in 
earth-life, and the answer by the spirit always was 
'Wait, patiently wait'; so I am still waiting." 

"And you still have faith," asked the stranger, 
"that the God of heaven will answer your prayers 
and bring about all things for the best?" 

"Why, certainly." 


"I wish I could believe that. Had I in earth life 
had some such belief to anchor to, perhaps I would 
not have made so many mistakes. I married twice, 
and they were both mistakes. The one chance I 
had of getting a man I mean, one who does not 
belie the word I threw away, because he was poor 
in wordly goods; but I suffered through my foolish 

errors I have heard of people praying about 

many things, but never have I heard of the Lord 
being asked about love affairs." 

"That may be true," said Signe; "and it shows 
how foolish we were. Why should people importune 
the Lord about small trials and petty ailments, and 
at the same time neglect to ask His guidance on mat 
ters of love and marriage which make or mar one's 

There seemed to be no immediate answer to 
this query, so the three passed along in silence. 
Presently the newcomer spoke again: 

"I am getting more light and hope since I asso 
ciate with you two. I believe my faith is being 
kindled, and 0, it feels so good to get a little firm 

"Yes, dear sister," said Rachel. "The tangled 
threads of earth-life are not all straightened out 
yet. It will take time, and we must have patience." 

Arriving at the place of meeting, the three 
women took positions near the platform upon which 
the speakers sat. Rupert was the principal speaker. 
He began by telling his listeners something about 
his experiences in earth-life. He spoke of his boy 
hood days, of the trials and difficulties he had en- 


countered, and how near he had come to being lost 
to all good. Then he told how the Lord had rescued 
him, and brought him to a knowledge of the gospel 
of salvation. "And the Lord's chief instrument in 
this work of rescue/' the speaker said, "was a beau 
tiful, good woman, who became my wife. 0, you 
women, what power you have for good or evil! See 
to it that you use your powers for the purposes of 

Rachel smiled at Signe while they listened, for 
Rupert's and Signe's story was quite familiar to her. 
All the time Rupert had been speaking, the woman 
who had come with them sat as if spellbound, her 
big eyes fixed on the speaker. When Rupert closed, 
Signe said to her friend: 

"That is my husband. Let us go up to him; 
he will be glad to meet you." 

But the woman drew back as if afraid. "I 
can't," she whispered. "Forgive me, but I must 
go" and with a faint cry she retreated and disap 
peared in the crowd, the two women looking after 
in wonder and astonishment. 

Just then Rupert stepped up to them. Seeing 
their wonder, he asked the reason. Signe explained. 

"I think I can guess who it was," said Rupert. 
"Well, well," he murmured as if to himself, "I had 
nearly forgotten her." 

"Yes, I believe it was she," added Signe. 

"Was who?" inquired Rachel. 

But Rupert stopped any reply that his wife 
might wish to make by interrupting with: 

"I saw an impressive sight not long ago Come, 


let us be getting on our way home, and I shall tell 
it to you." 

They were willing to listen as they journeyed. 
"We were out," began Rupert "a brother and I 
getting some information needed in one of the tem 
ples on earth for a brother who had gone as far as 
he could with his genealogy. As we were talking to 
a group of sisters a man rushed in upon us. With 
quick, eager words he asked us if we had seen some 
one whom he named and described. At the sight 
of him, one of the women shrunk back as if to hide 
in the crowd, but he saw her, and exclaimed: 

" 'Is that you? Yes Oh, have I found you at 
last!' " 

"The sister put forth her hand as if to ward him 
off, as he pressed through the crowd to her. 'How 
did you get here?' she asked. 'Keep away 
you are unclean keep away.' 

"He paused in some astonishment at this recep 
tion. Then he pleaded with her to let him accom 
pany her; but she retreated from him, crying, 'You 
are unclean; do not touch me.' 

" 'Yes,' he acknowledged, 'I suppose I have 
been a sinner; but listen to my justification: I sinned 
to drown my sorrow when you died. I, also, wanted 
to die. My heart was broken I could not stand 
it it was because I loved you so ' 

" 'No; you did not love me. Love is pure 
made purer by sorrow. Had you truly loved, you 
would not have sinned so grievously. Your sorrow 
needed to be repented of. Sorrow cannot be drowned 


in sin no, no; go away. Please go; you frighten 

"The man stood rigid for some time, and the 
expression on his face was something terrible to see. 
The cold, clear truth had for the first time burst 
upon him to his convincing. He had a 'bright rec 
ollection of all his guilt/ and his torment was 'as a 
lake of fire and brimstone.' The woman, recovering 
somewhat from her fright, stood before him with 
innocent, clear-shining eyes, with half pity and half 
fear showing in her beautiful countenance for the 
woman was beautiful. The man stood for a mo 
ment, which seemed a long time to all who witnessed 
the scene, then his head dropped, his form seemed 
to shrivel up as he slouched out of our company and 
disappeared from sight." 

There was silence. Then Rupert added, "And 
yet some people tried to make us believe that there 
is no hell." 

Rachel, even, forgot to ask further questions 
regarding the identity of the woman with hazel eyes 
and auburn hair, for just then Henrik and Marie 
appeared. With them was another woman, and the 
three were so preoccupied that they were oblivious 
to all others. 

"You are too late for the meeting," said Rupert. 

"I did intend to get there in time," replied Hen 
rik, "but don't you see who is here?" 

Rupert did not recognize the woman who stood 
by Marie with arms about each other, but Signe 
cried in joyous greeting, "Clara, Clara, is that you?" 

"This is Clara," said Marie to Rupert, "she who 


came to Henrik after I left him, who helped him 
so much, and who was so good to my children. She 
has just come, and has brought us much good news 
from them. I am so glad." Marie's arm drew tight 
around the newcomer as she kissed her cheek. 

"I, also, am glad to welcome you," said Rupert. 
''Brother Henrik," he added, "your excuse for non- 
attendance at our meeting is accepted." 


"The Lord . . . will fulfill the desire of them that fear him; 
he will also hear their cry." Psalms 156:19. 

Rachel found continual delight in all the won 
ders of spirit-land. Her circle of acquaintances 
enlarged rapidly, as those for whom she had done 
temple work were glad to know her, and to know 
her was to love her. These brought her in touch 
with many others; thus her sphere of usefulness 
extended until she, too, could say that she was busier 
than ever in joy-giving activities. 

Sometimes Rachel went on what she called "ex 
cursions of exploration." Usually she went alone, 
for the habit of doing things of herself still clung 
to her. Frequently, in the throngs of people with 
whom she mingled, she was accosted by someone 
who recognized her. Rachel did not remember faces 
easily, but (she was on one of her excursions) she 
knew this woman who touched her on the arm, and 

"You are Sister Rachel, are you not?" 


"Yes; and you yes, I know you. I am glad 
to meet you. How are you? Has the Lord shown 
you, has He satisfied you? You see I remember 
you well." 

The woman showed her gladness at Rachel's 
recognition. "The Lord has shown me abundantly 
and graciously," she replied; "but come with me 
away from the crowd. I shall be pleased to tell you 
all about it." Rachel accompanied the woman, who 
led her out into some quieter streets, thence to a 
beautiful home under tall trees. Flowers bloomed 
and birds sang in the garden. The two women 
seated themselves by a playing fountain. 

"I am glad you have not forgotten me. My 
name you may not remember it is Sister Rose." 

"Your face, dear sister, your beautiful face 
marked with that deep sorrow, no one could forget;" 
said Rachel, "but now the sorrow is gone, I see, and 
the beauty remains." 

Sister Rose took the other's hand caressingly. 
"That day in the temple," she said, "I came there 
as a place of last resort. I was suffering, and had 
tried everything that I could think of to ease my 
troubled soul. I had prayed to God to give me some 
manifestation regarding my boy. I came to the 
temple to get a great favor, and I obtained a bless 
ing. Instead of receiving some miraculous mani 
festation, you came to me and led me gently to a 
seat by ourselves. And there you talked to me. It 
was not so much what you said, but the spirit by 
which you said it that soothed and quieted and 
rested me. You repeated to me some verses, do you 


remember? I had you write them out, and I com 
mitted them to memory." 

"Do you remember them yet?" 


"Thou knowest, my Father! Why should I 
Weary high heaven with restless prayers and tears! 

Thou knowest all! My heart's unuttered cry 

Hath soared beyond the stars and reached Thine ears. 

Thou knowest ah, Thou knowest! Then what need, 

Oh, loving God, to tell Thee o'er and o'er. 
And with persistent iteration plead 

As one who crieth at some closed door." 

"That day I went away comforted and strength 
ened. Do you recollect?" 

"Yes; but what was your trouble? I do not 
remember that." 

"My son, my only child, was taken so cruelly 
from me. He was the hope of my life, and when 
he answered the call to go on a mission to the islands 
of the sea, I let him go gladly, because it was on the 
Lord's business. Then some months later the news 
came that he had died. I was crazed with grief. I 
could not understand why the Lord would permit 
such a thing to take place. Was my boy not in His 
service? Why did not the Lord take care of His 

"And so you suffered, both because of your loss 
and because of your thoughts," said Rachel. "Poor 
sister, but now?" 

"He is with me now, and it has all been ex- 


plained. We live in this house. Do you care to hear 
the story?" 

"If you desire to tell it, yes." 

"You seem so near and dear to me that I may 
tell it to you. My boy, while on his mission, was 
tempted. He has told me all about it he was 
tempted sorely. He was in great danger, and so 
the Lord, to prevent him from falling into the mire 
of sin, permitted him to be taken away. They 
brought his lifeless body home to me, but his spirit 
went back to its Maker pure and unspotted from 
the sins of the world, and thus I found him here, 
a big, fine-looking man as he was. You ought to 
see him." 

"Mother," someone called from the direction of 
the house. 

"That is he now," said the mother, rising. 

"Mother, where are you? Oh!" the son ex 
claimed as he caught sight of the two women. He 
came up to them and rested his arm tenderly on his 
mother's shoulder. He was big and handsome, and 
Rachel's eyes dropped before his curious gaze. 

"David, this is Sister Rachel, whom I first met 
in earth-life in the temple. I think I have told you 
about her and what a comfort she was to me." 

"I am very glad to know you," said he, as he 
clasped Rachel's hand. Then there was a pause 
which promised to become awkward, at which David 

"Mother, I want to show you something in the 
back garden. You know I have been experimenting 
with my roses. I believe I have obtained some won- 


derful color effects. You'll come also?" he asked 

The three walked on together into the garden 
where David exhibited and explained his work. 
When, at length, Rachel said it was time she was 
going, the mother urged her to come agan. 

"I'm going along with Sister Rachel to her 
home, and to find out where she lives," explained 
David, as he stepped along, unbidden, by Rachel's 

And so these two walked side by side for the 
first time. They talked freely on many topics, she 
listening contentedly. They smiled into each other's 
eyes, and at the end of that short journey, some 
thing had happened. True love had awakened in 
two hearts. Through all the shifting scenes of 
earth-life, nothing like this had ever come to this 
man and this woman. Love had waited all this time. 
The power that draws kindred souls together is not 
limited to the few years of earth-life. While time 
lasts, God will provide sometime, somewhere, in 
which to give opportunity for every deserving soul. 
Here were two whose hearts beat as one; but one 
must needs have left mortality early in his course, 
while the other went on to the end alone. The rea 
son for this was difficult to see by mortal eyes, but 

"I'm coming again to see you," said David, as 
he prepared to depart. "I have so much to tell you; 
and you, you have said very little. I must hear 
your story too." 

"I have no story," said she. "My earth-life was 


very uneventful. I just seemed to be waiting " 


But Rachel was confused. Her simple heart 
had spoken, and true to earthly habit, she now tried 
to cover up her tell-tale words; but he saw and 
understood, and as they stood there, his heart 
burned with a great joy. 

"Good-bye," he said, as he took her hand, "may 
I come again soon?" 

"Yes;" she answered. "I shall be pleased to 
see more of your beautiful flower garden." 

This was the beginning of a courtship, not the 
less sweet because it had been postponed for so long; 
not the less real, from the fact that the man and 
the woman were spiritual beings. "Sin," said the 
apostle, "is without the body;" so love and affection 
are attributes of the spirit, whether that spirit is 
within or without a tabernacle of flesh. And this 
courtship did not differ to any great extent from all 
others which had taken place from the beginning of 
time. There were the same timid approaches and 
responses; the getting acquainted with each other, 
wherein each lover's eyes glorified every act in the 
other; the tremulous pressure of hands; the love- 
laden looks and words; the thrill of inexpressible 
joy when the two were together. Neither was this 
courtship exceptional. Among the vast multitude 
in the spirit world there are many who did not mate 
in the brief time allotted to them in the earth- 
life; therefore, congenial spirits are continually 
meeting and reading "life's meaning in each other's 


Rachel, though she claimed to have no "story" 
to tell, interested David greatly in her account of 
how the Lord had chosen her as one of a family to 
become a savior on Mt. Zion. The work for the 
dead had not interested him. He, in connection 
with the youth of his time, had neglected that part 
of the gospel plan; and now, of course, he saw his 

"Yes," David acknowledged to Rachel, "I see 
my error now, as usual, when it is too late to remedy 
it. You who were faithful rank above me here." 

"Don't say that," she pleaded. 

"But it is true. Your good deeds came before 
you here and gave you a standing. Some of the 
treasures you destined for heaven were detained 
here, and you are now reaping benefits from them. 
Do I not see it all the time? When we meet new 
people, you are received with delight I am un 

"David, what comes to me, you partake of also, 
because " 

"Because you shall belong to me. Yes, dear 
one; that is the blessed truth. The Lord has brought 
us together, and all else should be forgotten in our 

gratitude to Him Rachel, we would have 

known each other in earth-life had I behaved my 
self. Our lives were surely trending toward each 
other, and our paths would have met. We would 
have loved and have wedded there, had it not been 
for my " 

"Say no more. Let us forget the past in think- 


ing of and planning for the future. I am happy 
now, and so is your mother." 
"And so am I." 


f'Whatsoever God doeth it shall be forever." Ecd. S:14. 

David and Rachel were out walking when they 
saw another couple whose lovelike actions were 
noticeable. As they met, the couple stopped and 
the man said, "Pardon me, but we are somewhat 
strange in this new world. May we ask you some 
questions?" l^-^v^ 

"Let us sit down here together," suggested 
David, and he led the way to a place where they 
could sit quietly. "Are you in trouble?" 

"Well, I hardly know," replied the man. "Anna 
and I are together, and perhaps we ought to be 
satisfied; but somehow we are not. There is some 
thing lacking." 


"You see, we left the earth-life, so suddenly 
we were so poorly prepared for this." His com 
panion clasped his arm as if to be protected from 
some impending danger. "We were boating on the 

lake, the boat overturned, and here we are We 

were to have been married the next day, but now 
now what is our condition? We are not husband 
and wife; neither, I suppose, can we be, for we were 
taught back in that world from where we came, that 


there is no married condition here. Yet you two 
are husband and wife, are you not?" 

"Not yet," replied David, "but we expect to 

"I don't understand; you seem to know; teach 
us. May we be married here?" 

David explained the principle of celestial mar 
riage as it had been revealed to them in earth-life, 
and contrasted that doctrine with what was usually 
taught. "So you see," said he, "even if you had been 
married on that day appointed in mortality, it would 
have been only until death did you part. You have 
passed through death, and so, the contract between 
you would have come to an end, and you would not 
now be husband and wife." 

"But you said that you two were to be married. 

"Had we been married in earth-life, it would 
have been for time and eternity, because it would 
have been performed by the authority of the Lord. 
What God does, is forever. Marriage must be sol 
emnized on the earth. As our earth-days are past, 
we cannot go back, so the ceremony must be done 
for us by someone else living on the earth. Sister 
Rachel here, while in earth-life, did for thousands 
who had gone before what they could not do for 
themselves. Now, someone, in the Lord's own due 
time, will stand for her, and do for her what she 
did not do for herself." 

The two new acquaintances listened attentively 
while David and sometimes Rachel instructed them 
on the principles of the gospel, and their applica- 


tion to those who were in the spirit world. They 
spoke to them of faith and repentance, principles 
which all men everywhere could receive and exer 
cise. They explained the ordinance of baptism for 
the remission of sins, an earthly rite, which could 
be believed in and accepted by those in the spirit 
world, but would have to be performed for them 
vicariously by someone on earth. Marriage for eter 
nity was also further explained. 

"It is true," concluded David, "that in the res 
urrection there is neither marrying nor giving in 
marriage. All that must be attended to before the 
resurrection, which for all of us luckily is yet in 
the future. We know for a surety that if we do our 
part the best we know, the Lord will take care of 
the rest." 

These four people did not part until David and 
Rachel had promised to meet their friends again 
soon, and continue the talk which had so favorably 
begun. When the two had left, David turned to 
Rachel and said: 

"Did you see the lovelight glowing in their eyes 
when their hearts were touched with the truth?" 

"Yes, as it did in yours when you were speak 

"And in yours, too, my dear, when it was your 

"It's good to be a missionary always a mis 
sionary, isn't it, as long as there is one being in need 
of guidance and instruction." 

"It is very good, indeed, David." 

"Rachel, glad news for us. We, you and I, are 


soon to follow our parents and our older brothers 
and sisters, up through the gates of the resurrec 
tion, which our Lord so graciously opened 

Yes, yes, it is true Into the celestial kingdom, 

with bodies of celestial glory and go on to our exal 
tation And, dear, the work is being done for 

us in the Temple of our God Yes, right now, 

it is being done. Come, Rachel, let us go and be as 

near as we can Yes, we have permission 

This is the Temple. God's messengers are here, 
and His Spirit broods in and around the holy place. 
That Spirit we also in common with mortality, may 
feel. You, Rachel, ought to be at home here, more 
so than I. Let us follow the man and the woman 

who are doing the work for us Do you see 

them clearly, Rachel? Yes; we shall not for 
get them when they, too, come to us in the spirit, 
but we shall give them a welcome such as they have 

never dreamed of Now they are by the altar. 

Kneel here by me, Rachel, your hand in mine, like 
this. Listen, can you hear? 'For and in behalf of,' 
you and me It is done. We are hus 
band and wife. You are mine for eternity, mine, 

mine 0, Eternal Father, we thank Thee!" 

David holds the fair form of his wife in his 
arms. He kisses her cheeks, her eyes, her lips. Then 
there is silence. 


Freedom waves her joyous pinions 

O'er a land ; from sea to sea, 
Ransomed, righteous, and rejoicing 

In a world-wide jubilee. 

O'er a people happy, holy, 
Gifted now with heavenly grace, 

Free from every sordid fetter 
That enslaved a fallen race. 

Union, love, and fellow feeling 

Mark the sainted day of power; 
Rich and poor in all things equal, 
Righteousness their rock and tower. 

Mountain peaks of pride are leveled, 

Lifted up the lowly plain, 
Crookedness made straight, while crudenesa 

Now gives way to culture's reign. 

Now no tyrant's sceptre saddens; 

Now no bigot's power can bind. 
Faith and work, alike unfettered, 

Win the goal by heaven designed. 

God, not mammon, hath the worship 

Of His people, pure in heart: 
This is Zion oh, ye nations, 

Choose with her the better part!" 

Crown and sceptre, sword and buckler 
Baubles! lay them at her feet. 

Strife no more shall vex creation; 
Christ's is now the kingly seat. 

Cities, empires, kingdoms, powers, 

In one mighty realm divine. 
She, the least and last of nations, 

Henceforth as their head shall shine. 

'Tis thy future glory, Zion, 

Glittering in celestial rays, 
As the ocean's sun-lit surging 

Rolls upon my raptured gaze! 

All that ages past have promised, 
All that noblest minds have prized, 

All that holy lips have prayed for, 
Here at last is realized. 

Orson F . Whitney. 


"Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the 
Lord is risen upon thee. * * * And the Gentiles shall come to 
thy light and kings to the brightness of thy rising." Isaiah 
60:1, 3. 

The sun in its downward course had reached 
the hazy zone, which, bounded by the clear blue 
above and the horizon below, extended around the 
green earth; in the west, the round disk of the sun 
shone through it, and tinged the landscape with a 
beautiful, mellow light. 

It was midsummer. The sun had been hot all 
the day, and when on that evening two men reined 
in the horses they were driving, and paused on the 
summit of a small hill, a cool breeze reached them, 
and they bared their heads to the refreshing air. 
Not a word was spoken as they gazed on the scene 
before them; its grandeur and beauty were too vast 
for words. 

Before them, to the west, lay the city, the ob 
ject of their long journey before them, it lay as a 
queen in the midst of her surroundings. At first 
sight, it seemed one immense palace, rather than a 
city of palaces, as the second view indicated. Street 
after street, mansion after mansion, the city stretch 
ed away as far as the eye could reach, mingling with 
trees and gardens. 

Rising from the center of the city was the tem 
ple. Its walls shone like polished marble, and its 


towers seemed to pierce the sky, as around about 
them a white cloud hung. This cloud extended from 
the temple as a center, over the whole city, and 
seemed as it were a covering. 

The sun sank behind the horizon; still the cloud 
glowed with light, as if the sun's rays still lingered 

For ten minutes the carriage had paused on the 
elevation, and the two men had gazed in silence. 
Then the driver, as if awakening from a dream, 
gave the horses the word to go, as he said: 

"We must drive on." 

"Yes; night is coming on." 

The second speaker was a middle aged man of 
commanding bearing. He leaned back in the car 
riage as they sped onward. 

"So this is the world renowned city," he said, 
"the new capital of the world to which we all must 
bow in submission; within whose borders sit judges 
and rulers the like of which for power and wisdom 
have never yet appeared. Truly, she is the rising 
light of the world. What say you, Remand?" 

" ; Tis indeed a wondrous sight, your majesty. 
The reality far exceeds any reports that have come 
to us." 

"It is well, Remand, that we chose this slower 
mode of coming into the city. Electricity would 
have brought us here in a fraction of the time; but 
who would miss this beautiful drive?" 

They were already within the outskirts of the 
city. Although all that day they had driven through 
a most beautiful region of cities and fields and gar- 


dens, the latter being gorgeous with flowers and 
fruit, yet the glory of this city far surpassed any 
thing they had yet beheld. Over the smooth, paved 
roadway, their carriage glided noiselessly. The 
blooming flowers and trees shed sweet odors in the 
air. Buildings and gardens, arranged in perfect 
symmetry, delighted the eye. The song of birds and 
the hum of evening melodies charmed the ear. Men, 
women and children and vehicles of all kinds were 
continually passing. 

The shades of night crept over the landscape; 
still the cloudy covering of the city glowed with 
brilliant light. The darker the night became, the 
brighter became the cloud, until the palace, built of 
marble and precious stone, appeared in its soft, clear 
light like the colors of the rainbow. 

"Your majesty, must we not soon seek some 
place to rest for the night?" 

"Yes, you are right. Do you think anyone will 
suspect our true character?" 

"No one save ourselves, within thousands of 
miles, knows that you are the king of Poland." 

"I do hope so, Remand, for I wish to see these 
things from the point of view of a commoner. See, 
there is the pillar of fire spoken about. Truly, my 
good friend, the glory of the Lord is risen upon this 

Hardly were the words spoken before the car 
riage drew up to a gateway, or open arch, which 
spanned the road. A man appeared and inquired 
of the travelers where they were going. On being 
informed that they were strangers come to see the 


city, the man bade them wait a few minutes. Soon 
he returned. 

"As you are strangers and wish to rest for the 
night, you will please alight and receive that which 
you need. Your horses will be taken care of. Come." 
They drove along a road leading to a large house. 
Grooms took charge of the horses, and they them 
selves were ushered into a room, which, for con 
venience and beauty of finish, was not surpassed 
even by the king of Poland's own palaces. Soon 
fruits and bread were placed before them, and they 
were shown couches where they would rest for the 

Though weary with their day's journey, the 
travelers could not sleep. The strangeness of it all 
bewildered them, and they talked about it far into 
the night. 

Next morning they were awakened by song 
birds that had taken position in a tree near their 
open window, and were now pouring forth a chorus 
of welcome. How beautiful was the morning! Earth 
and sky were full of the perfume of flowers and the 
song of birds. The cloud still hung over the city. 

From the garden they were called into the din 
ing room, where a meal was spread before them. 
Fruits and fruit preparations of a dozen kinds; 
breads, cakes and vegetables, drinks from the juice 
of fruits: this was the bill of fare. 

After they had eaten, the person who had met 
them the evening before, entered, and announced 
that their carriage was ready for their drive; or, 
if they chose to take the cars, they would get within 


the city much quicker, but, of course, would miss 
some interesting sights. 

"We prefer to see all," replied the king. 

"Then come with me." 

The king and Remand followed into another 
room where they met a young man who was to be 
their escort. The first now retired, and the young 
man advanced and shook their hands. 

"Be seated for a moment," said he. "My name 
is Paulus. I am to conduct you into the city, and 
be your guide for the day. Such is the rule here." 
The speaker also took a seat by the table. The king 
and his companion sat opposite. 

"In this city," continued Paulus, "there can be 
no hypocrisy, no deceit of any kind. I am instructed, 
therefore, to tell you that your true name, charac 
ter, and mission is known. You are the king of 
Poland, and you his counselor and friend." 

The king started, changed color, and looked to 
wards Remand. 

"How how is that?" he stammered. 

Paulus smiled. "Do not be alarmed, my dear 
sir. You were known before you entered the first 
gate yesterday. These people have entertained you 
with a full knowledge of what you are; neverthe 
less, the treatment you have received has been in 
no wise different from that which is given to every 
honest man who comes to this city for righteous 
purposes, no matter be he high or low, rich or poor, 
in the estimation of the world. You see, true worth 
and righteousness are the only standards of judg 
ment here. Again, you are safer here than in the 


house of your best friend in Poland, or surrounded 
by your old-time host of armed warriors; for vio 
lence is no more heard in this land, neither wasting 
nor destruction within our borders. Our walls are 
Salvation; our gates, praise; and the inhabitants of 
this city are all righteous. It is their inheritance 
forever, for they are a branch of the Lord's plant 
ing, the work of His hands, wherein He is glorified." 

Neither of the strangers spoke. The words 
seemed to thrill them into silence. 

"Come, then, let us be going." 

The carriage was awaiting; but it was not the 
travelers' own. 

"No," was Paulus' answer to their inquiry, 
"your horses will rest. This is our equipage." 

They drove into the city. 

" 'Walk about Zion, and go round about her; 
tell the towers thereof. Mark ye well her bulwarks, 
consider her palaces, that ye may tell it to the gen 
erations following,' " said Paulus. 

"You quote from the writings of the ancient 
Hebrews," said Remand. 

"Yes; these 'holy men of God spake as they 
were moved by the Holy Ghost,' " was the answer. 

An hour's drive through indescribable grandeur 
brought them to a gate in the wall which sur 
rounded the temple, where they alighted. An at 
tendant took charge of the horses. Paulus led the 
way. A word to the keeper of the gate, and they 
were permitted to pass. Surrounding the central 
building, was a large open space laid out in walks, 
grass plats, ornamental trees, and flowers. People 


were walking about. Guides and instructors were 
busy with strangers, who seemed to have come from 
all nations, by the varied manner of dress displayed, 
and the different languages spoken. 

"This," said Paulus, "is the sanctuary of free 
dom, the place of the great King. From this center 
go the righteous laws that govern nations and 
peoples. It is not time yet to proceed further, so 
we will walk about the gardens." 

"Is the great King here today?" asked Poland's 

"I do not know; but the council will sit and 
transact all needed business. And now I will tell 
you another thing: All whom you have met or seen 
have appeared to you as mortal beings, as you or I; 
but in reality, in our drive through the city, you 
have seen many immortal, that is, resurrected, men 
and women; for you must remember that now the 
righteous live to the age of a tree, and when they 
die, they do not sleep in the dust, but are changed 
in the twinkling of an eye. These visit with us, 
abide with us for a time to instruct us. Because you 
are a ruler among the nations, you will be permitted 
to see the assembling of the council, and receive in 
struction from it. The time is drawing nigh. Let 
us be going." 

Great crowds of white-robed men were flocking 
into the temple. The three followed. The king and 
Remand gazed in wonder at those who had been 
pointed out as being resurrected beings, and their 
wonder increased when they could see no marked 
difference between them and the rest of mankind, 


save perhaps in the calm, sweet expression of the 
face, and the light which appeared to beam from 
the countenances of the immortals. They certainly 
were not unreal, shadowy beings. 

Entering a wide hallway, they soon arrived at 
the council chamber. Its glory dazzled the behold 
ers. In the midst of this room was a vast throne 
as white as ivory, and ascended by seventy steps. 
On each side of the throne were tiers of seats, rising 
one above the other. The seats were rapidly being 
filled, but the throne remained vacant. 

"The King is not here today," whispered Paulus. 

Then a soft, sweet strain of music was heard. 
It increased in volume until a thousand instruments 
seemed to blend into one melody. Suddenly, the 
vast assembly arose as one man and joined in a song 
of joy and thanksgiving. 

"Guide dear friend," whispered the king of 
Poland, "I am overcome, I cannot remain." 

"I feel faint," said Remand, "I fear I shall per 

"Come, then, we had better go," answered 
Paulus. "This is all we shall see at present. We 
shall now go into another room and wait the coun 
cil's adjournment; then you will have an interview 
with one delegated to talk with you." 

From the hallway they entered a smaller room, 
decorated with beautiful pictures and adorned with 
statuary. Books, newspapers and magazines were 
at hand, and when the visitors were tired of gazing, 
they sat down by a table. 

Theyjiad not long to wait before word came 


that the king and his friends should enter another 
room close by. Paulus would wait for their return. 
The two found a venerable looking man awaiting 
them, who, upon their entrance, arose and said: 

"Welcome, welcome, to the Lord's house. I 
may not call you king of Poland there is but one 
King on this earth but I will call you servants of 
the King, as we all are. Be seated. 

"I am instructed to tell you that, as a whole, 
the King is pleased with the manner you are con 
ducting your stewardship. The Spirit of our Lord 
moved upon you to take this journey to his capital, 
and you chose to come as you did. That is well 
enough. Tyrants do not enter this city, and your 
presence here is assurance to you that you are jus 

"It is well that you have disbanded your armies, 
and that your instruments of war have been made 
into plows and pruning hooks. Remember the law 
that the nation and kingdom that will not serve the 
Lord shall perish. The King grants to all His sub 
jects their free agency in the matter of religion, 
forcing no one to obey the gospel law; still He is 
the King of the earth; it is His, and He made it, and 
has redeemed it; and He now wills that all nations 
shall come under one government organized by Him 
in righteousness. For a thousand years the earth 
must rest in peace; then comes the great and dread 
ful day of the Lord. 

"And now, another thing. There have been 
some complaints from your country that the ser 
vants of the Lord who have been sent to preach the 


gospel to your people, have not had that perfect 
freedom which is desired. Please see to it that they 
are not molested while peaceably promulgating re 
ligious doctrines." 

"I shall see to it," answered the king of Poland. 

For some time they counseled together; then 
the two withdrew, and joined Paulus, who conducted 
them out into the city. 


"The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard 
shall lie down with the kid; * * * and a little child shall lead 
them. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain 
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the 
waters cover the sea." Isaiah 11:6-9. 

The next day Paulus with his two visitors walk 
ed about the city. He described and explained the 
many deeply interesting scenes, and answered the 
numerous questions directed to him. The for 
eigners did not fail to note the wonderful advances 
made in the arts and sciences and their practical 
application to everyday affairs. They had thought 
their own country not behind in improvements, but 
here there own were far surpassed. 

"We will ride out on the ether-line to one of 
our schools," remarked Paulus. "You will be 
pleased with the children." 

"This is an improvement on electricity," said 
their director, as seated in an elegant car, they were 
carried through the city without noise or jostle. 


"This line is rather crude yet. I was reading in the 
newspaper the other day that some very important 
improvements were shortly to be made. You have 
noticed, ere this, our method of heating and light 
ing. Don't you think it is an advancement on the 
old way?" 

"It certainly is, though we use some steam and 
considerable electricity yet in our country." 

"I suppose so but here we are." 

Although nothing in the city was cramped or 
crowded for room, the place where they now alighted 
was planned on an unusually large scale. Immense 
buildings stood upon a large tract of land, planted 
with trees, grass, and flowers. Here were breathing 
room and playground. A number of streams of clear 
water flowed through the grounds, and small ponds 
were alive with fish and swimming birds. Foun 
tains played, and statues of marble gleamed through 
the foliage. 

"See, what is that?" exclaimed Remand, as he 
caught sight of a huge, shaggy beast lying under a 

"Just a brown bear," said Paulus. "We have 
some lions and few of the rarest animals on these 
grounds but I am forgetting that these scenes must 
be strange to you. In Poland you have not wholly 
shaken off the old world and its way. It takes 
time of course." 

"Well," replied Remand, "although the enmity 
between man and beast is nearly gone, we have not 
yet adopted bears and lions as pets for our children 
to play with." 


"Well, we have, you perceive." 

A bevy of children came dancing through the 
grounds. Beautiful children they were, full of life 
and gladness. They caught sight of bruin, stretched 
under the tree, and with a shout they stormed him. 
The animal saw them coming, and extending himself 
at full length on the ground, seemed to enjoy the 
children's tumbling over his shaggy sides. When 
they patted him on the head and stroked his nose, 
he licked their hands. 

"We haven't reached quite that far," remarked 
the king. 

"Neither do we behold such sights," added his 
companion, as he pointed to a tiger crouching on 
the grass, and gazing with no evil intention at a 
lamb quietly feeding by. 

"You will in time," said Paulus. "The earth 
is being filled with the knowledge of God. Hate, 
envy, and destruction are fast disappearing, and 
you see the natural results : the wolf lying down with 
the lamb, and children playing with once savage 
beasts. In this way, Satan is being bound, and 
the whole earth will soon be released from his 

They came to another group of children, gath 
ered on the shore of a small lake, who were eagerly 
listening to a man in their midst. 

"We will hear what the lesson is today," said 
Paulus, and they went up to the group. The in 
structor was holding up a flower which he had 
plucked from the margin of the water, and was 


illustrating some peculiarity of vegetable formation 
to the class. 

"It is botany today," said Paulus. "I hoped 
that it would be his favorite theme." 

"And what is that?" 

"The improvements on these grounds are the 
work of his planning and supervision, and he de 
lights to give lessons on earth and water forma 
tions. He often sets a class to digging trenches and 
waterways. He says that he learned all about such 
things when he went to school, meaning when he 
was on the earth before." 

"Is he a resurrected being?" asked Remand in 
a low voice. 

"He is," was the reply. "Many of our instruct 
ors are. You will understand without argument 
the advantages they have over others." 

"Certainly, certainly." 

"I see he is through with the recitation. Let 
us speak to him." 

As they came up, the children recognized them 
with a smile and a salute, and the instructor said: 

"Welcome, brothers, welcome, Brother Paulus." 

"You are dismissed. Go to your next lesson," 
he said to the children, and they quietly walked 

"Now," said he, "I have some leisure. Will you 
all come with me into the reading room? I have 
something to show you, Paulus, and it may interest 
our visitors." 

"Need we no introduction?" asked the king, as 
they followed into a large building. 


"Not at all. He knows who you are." 

The reading room was a compartment beauti 
fully adorned and furnished. It was filled with 
tables, chairs, bookracks, etc. Hundreds of children 
were there reading. Perfect order reigned, though 
no overseers or watchers were seen. The three fol 
lowed the instructor into a smaller room, seemingly 
arranged for private use. Chairs were placed, and 
then he opened a newspaper which he spread on the 

"Have you seen the last edition of today's pa 

None of them had. 

"Well, I found something here of more than 
usual interest. It seems that some workmen, ex 
cavating for a building, came across the ruins of a 
nineteenth century city. In a cavity in a stone they 
found some coins of that period, also a number of 
newspapers. It was a common practice in those 
days to imbed such things in the corner stones of 
buildings. Extracts from those papers are repro 
duced here, and they are of interest to the children 
of today in showing the condition of the world when 
under the influence of that fallen spirit who rebelled 
against God in the beginning. Let me read you a 
few extracts, principally headings only." 

" 'Yesterday this city was visited by a most 
destructive fire. One-half of the business part was 
swept away. Thousands of dollars of property were 
lost, and it is supposed that about fifty persons have 
perished in the flames.' 

" 'The great strike. Thousands of workmen 


out of employment. Children crying for bread 
Mobs march through the streets, defying the police, 
and demolishing property. The governor calls out 
the state militia.' 

'Here is another: 

" 'War! War! England, Germany, France, 
Russia and the United States are preparing!' 

"Yes, you have read your histories. You know 
all about that. What do you think of this?" 

" 'Millions of the people's money have been ex 
pended by those in office to purchase votes. A set 
of corrupt political bosses rule the nation.' 

"Still another: 

" 'A gang of tramps capture a train ' ' 

The reader did not finish, but laid the paper 
down and looked out of the open door. He did not 
speak for some time; then turning, said: 

"Brothers, thank God that you live in the Mil 
lennium of the world. My heart grows sick when my 
mind reverts back to the scenes of long ago. I 
passed through some of them. I learned my les 
sons in a hard school; but God has been good to 
me. He has known me all along, and has given me 
just what I needed. Shall we visit the buildings? 
Shall we see the children who grow up without sin 
unto salvation? Come with me." 

From room to room, from building to building, 
they went. Children, children, everywhere bright, 
beautiful children. Oh, it was a grand sight! Hark! 
They sing a thousand voices; and such music! 

"Are there special visitors today?" asked 


"Yes; come let us go outside and see them." 

They stepped out on to a portico where they 
could see the throng of children standing on a large 
lawn outside. They were singing a song of wel 
come, and through the trees could be seen three men 
approaching. The children made way for them, 
and they walked through towards the building. 

"Look well at them as they pass," said the in 
structor; "you may recognize them." 

They walked with the sprightliness of youth 
though their hair was white as snow. They smiled 
at the children as they passed. 

"Two of the faces are familiar," remarked 
Remand, "but the third is strange. Surely, sure 

"Surely you did not expect to see George Wash 
ington and Martin Luther in the flesh, walking and 
talking as other men?" 


"It is they." 

"And the third?" 

"The third is Socrates of old." 

"What is their mission?" 

"They are about to speak to the children. They 
have been at the school of the prophets all morning, 
and now they come from the high school yonder. 
You see what advantages today's students of history 

"Has the knowledge of God exalted men to the 
society of resurrected beings?" 

"Your senses do not deceive you," was the reply. 


"Now I must go," said the instructor. "Fare 
well, and peace be with you." 

He went into the house again, the three follow 
ing directly, but they saw nothing more of him. 


"Every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a 
thousand hills * * * for the world is mine, and the fulness 
thereof." Psalms 50:10, 12. 

The King of Poland and his counselor lodged 
that night in the city. Early next morning, Paulus 
came again for them. 

"What do you wish to see, today?" he asked. 

"Take us to some of your workshops and mills," 
replied the King; "we would like to learn more of 
your social and industrial conditions, about which 
we have heard." 

A car soon took them to a part of the city where 
the workshops were situated. The buildings were 
not great, black-looking structures with rows of 
small windows in the walls; but they were handsome, 
spacious buildings, resembling somewhat the fin 
est of the public buildings with which the visitors 
were acquainted in their own country. Remand 
noted the absence of smoking chimneys, and inquired 
about them. 

"We have done away with all that," explained 
Paulus. "Pure air is one of the essentials to life. 
One of the crudest imperfections of the past was 
the wilderness of smoking chimneys which belched 
forth their blackness and poison into the atmosphere. 


As you have noticed, our city is clean, and the air 
above us is as clear as that above forests or fields." 

"I suppose you use electricity for light and 
power," remarked Remand; "but you need heat, 

"We use electricity for heat also," was ex 
plained. "We get it direct from the earth, also have 
it generated by water power, both from falls and 
the waves of the sea, and transmitted to us. Some 
of these power stations are hundreds of miles away 
among the mountains, and by the sea. We have also 
learned to collect and conserve heat from the sun; 
so, you see, we are well supplied for all purposes. 
This building," said the instructor, pointing to the 
one in front of which they had stopped, "is a fur 
niture factory. Would you like to see it in working 

"Yes; very much," said the King. 

They entered clean, well-lighted, airy rooms 
where beautiful machinery was being operated by 
well-dressed and happy-looking workmen. The vis 
itors passed from section to section, noting, admir 
ing, and asking questions. 

"Whose factory is this?" asked Remand of the 

"You mean who has charge who is the stew 
ard?" corrected Paulus. 

"No; not exactly that. This magnificent plant 
must have an owner, either an individual or a cor 
poration. I asked for the ownership of the prop 

The guide looked strangely at his companions. 


Then he realized that these men had come from the 
parts of the earth where the celestial order had not 
yet been established. The old ideas of private prop 
erty rights were still with them. 

"My friends," he said, "The earth is the Lord's, 
and the fulness thereof. He is the only proprietor. 
How can weak, mortal man own any part of this 
earth! No, ownership is for a future time, a future 
state. Now we are only stewards over the Lord's 

"But someone must have charge here," said the 

"Certainly. A master mechanic is steward over 
this factory, and he renders an account of all its 
doings to the Bishop, who is the Lord's representa 
tive. In this building, as you have seen, are many 
departments, and these are also stewardships, given 
to those in whose charge they are. Likewise, each 
workman has a stewardship for which he is re 
sponsible and accountable to the Lord." 

They came to the wood-carving department 
where beautiful designs were being drawn and exe 

"Each man, as far as possible, does the kind 
of work best suited to his tastes and abilities. Here, 
for instance, those who are skilled carvers of wood 
find employment for their talent, and they turn out 
some fine articles of furniture Of course, we have 
machines that stamp and carve wood; but the pleas 
ure derived from the use of the skilled hand is not 
to be denied the well-trained mechanic and artist." 

"I don't quite understand what you mean by 



stewardships," said Remand as they passed into a 
rest room. 

"Let us sit down here," replied Paulus, "and I 
shall try to explain further. You must know that 
all this order, beauty, peace, and plenty has been 
attained by an observance of celestial law. And the 
celestial law as pertaining to temporal things is that 
no man shall have more than is required for his and 
his family's support. In this respect all men are 
equal according to their needs. In olden times, this 
law was called the order of Enoch, because we are 
informed that Enoch and his city attained to a high 
degree of righteousness through its observance. 
Later it was called the United Order. It has been 
revealed to and tried by men in various periods of 
the earth's history, but never has it had such a 
chance to redeem the world as it is having now. 
According to this law, no man can accumulate unto 
himself the wealth created by the work of others, 
as was the case is former times with us, and still 
prevails to some extent among other nations. All 
surplus which a worker accumulates beyond his 
needs is turned into the general storehouse of the 
Lord. Thus each man becomes equal in temporal 
things as well as in spiritual things. There is no 
rich or poor: each man obtains what he requires, 
and no more." 

"What is the extent of this surplus?" asked the 
King. "Is it large?" 

"Yes; because of the nearly perfect condition 
of our industrial system, a great amount of wealth 
flows into the general storehouse. You will under- 


stand, of course, that all public institutions receive 
their support from this fund, so that the old order 
of taxes is done away with. You have noticed our 
beautiful city. You have not seen palaces of the 
rich and hovels of the poor, but you have seen mag 
nificent public buildings, parks, and thoroughfares. 
These institutions that are for all alike have been 
built and are sustained by the surplus; and this city 
does not represent all of what the people of the Lord 
are doing. The Lord's work is being extended 
throughout this land and to lands beyond the sea. 
Not the least of our duties is the building of tem 
ples and the performing of the work for our dead 
in them. So you see, we have need of much wealth 
to carry on our work." 

"Yes; I understand," remarked Remand; "but 
in our country and time, as indeed, it has been in 
the past, many have tried plans of equality, but they 
have been more or less failures. Why have you suc 
ceeded so well?" 

"The chief cause for the past failures of the 
world in this industrial order lies in the supposition 
that unregenerated men, who have not obeyed the 
gospel of Jesus Christ, and who are, therefore, full 
of weaknesses and sins incident to human nature 
without the power to overcome them I say the mis 
take lies in the supposition that such men can come 
together and establish a celestial order of things, 
an order wherein the heart must be purged from 
every selfish thought and desire. No wonder that 
a building erected on such a poor foundation could 
not stand. We have succeeded because we have 


begun right. We have had faith in the Lord and 
His providences, have repented of our sins, have 
been born again of water and of the Spirit, and 
then we have tried to live by every word that pro 
ceeds from the mouth of God. We have done 
this pretty well, or we could never have succeeded 
in this work of equality that you see and admire. 
People who do the things that you observe around 
you must have the Spirit of God in their hearts. 
This celestial order is God's order, and those who 
partake of its blessings must be in harmony with 
God's mind and will. High law cannot be obeyed 
and lived by inferior beings who are not willing to 
submit to the first principles of salvation and power." 

The three sat in quiet contemplation for a time. 
Then the King said: "Tell us about the wages of 
these workmen. The proper adjustment of wages 
has always been a source of much trouble with us." 

"Yes, in the days when every man had to look 
out for himself and had no thought for his neighbor, 
it was a continual struggle to get as much as possible 
for one's work and to give as little as possible for 
the work of another. Such conditions were natural 
under a system of greed and selfishness, and they 
brought on much contention and trouble, which, 
happily are now ended. In the beginning," ex 
plained the speaker, "those who enter this order of 
equality are required to consecrate all their property 
to the Lord. Then each is given a stewardship 
according to his needs and his ability to manage and 
to work. Children have a claim upon their parents 


for support until they are of age, when they also 
are given a stewardship." 

"Are the wages equal to all?" 

"No; and for the very good reason that the 
needs of all are not alike. According to the old 
order, the superintendent of these works, for in 
stance, would draw a salary of perhaps $5000.00 a 
year, while the men who do the manual labor would 
get less than a tenth of that sum." 

"True," remarked Remand, "supply and de 
mand regulates these things. Superintendents are 
scarce, but common workmen are plentiful." 

"But, my dear friend, we have no common 
workmen. It is just as important that a table should 
be put together properly, and that it be well fin 
ished as that there should be a superintendent of 
the works. No man in our industrial system can 
say to another, 'I have no need of thee.' Each is 
important, each has his place, each supports the 
other. The polisher or the sawyer, therefore, 
should have his needs supplied, and so should the 
overseer but no more. What would he do with 
more, anyway? Tell me." 

"Why, why," replied Remand, "He could save 
it, put it in the bank, invest it." 

Paulus smiled. "What good would hoarded 
wealth be to a man whose needs are all provided 
for as long as he lives, as also his children after him. 
We have but one bank here the Lord's storehouse, 
and all profits derived from investments are there 
deposited. But speaking again of wages, I happen 
to know that the superintendent of this factory is a 


man with a wife only to support, and they are very 
simple in their tastes. The wood-carver whom we 
spoke of has a large family of children. His needs 
are greater than the superintendent's, therefore he 
receives more for his portion. That is just, is it 

"Yes," replied Remand," the theory seems to 
be all right but its application, among us at least, 
would bring endless complications to be adjusted." 

"Perhaps so," replied Paulus. "We are not per 
fect, even here. While we are in mortality, we have 
weaknesses to contend with; but you must remem 
ber that we look on every man as a brother and a 
friend, and as I have stated, we have the spirit of 
the Master to help us. When this help proves in 
sufficient by reason of our own failure to do the 
right, and in our weakness we are unjust or over 
bearing, or oppressive, then there is the Lord Him 
self whose throne is with us. He balances again the 
scales of justice, and metes out to every man his 
just deserts." 

Paulus arose, and the others followed him rev 
erently out into the park-like space surrounding the 
factory. They walked slowly along the paths as 
they talked. 

"The argument usually urged against all orders 
of equality," remarked Remand, "is that it takes 
away man's incentive to work." 

"Have you seen any idle men in or about Zion?" 
asked the guide. 

They acknowledged that they had not. 

"The new order has not taken away incentives 


to work; it has simply changed the incentive from 
a low order to a higher. We can not afford to work 
for money as an end. Wealth, with us, is simply a 
means to an end, and that is the bringing to pass of 
saving righteousness to the race, individually and 
collectively. Wealth is not created to be used for 
personal aggrandizement; and, in fact, its power to 
work mischief is taken away when all men have 
what they need of it. The attainment of worldly 
wealth was at one time the standard of success. It 
was, indeed, a low standard." 

"What is your standard?" asked the king. 

"Among us the greatest of all is the servant of 
all. He who does his best along the line of his work, 
and contributes the results of his efforts to the 
general good, is successful. Quantity is not always 
the test, for the gardener who supplies us with the 
choicest vegetables is counted just as successful 
as he who digs from the mountain his thousands in 
gold. . . . Who, in your country, is counted 
the greatest success in history?" 

Neither Remand nor the King replied to this 

"I will not confuse you by urging a reply," said 
Paulus. "You, of course, understand our view of 
that matter. He who did the greatest good to the 
greatest number made the greatest success. That 
was the Lord and Master. 'If I be lifted up, I shall 
draw all men to me/ he said; and that is being 
fulfilled. In like manner the greatest among us is he 
who serves us best." 

They seated themselves on a bench and watched 


the workers flock from the workshop homeward to 
their mid-day meal. It was an interesting sight to 
the two visitors. The people appeared so happy and 
contented that the king noticed it and commented on 

"Yes," replied Paulus; "why should they not 
be happy? When I think of the times in the past 
how so many of the human race had to struggle des 
perately merely to live; how men, women and child 
ren often had to beg for work by which to obtain 
the means of existence; how sometimes everything 
that was good and pure and priceless was sold for 
bread; while on the other hand many others of the 
race lolled in ease and luxury, being surfeited with 
the good things of the world I say, when I think 
of this, I can not praise the Lord too much for what 
He now has given to us." 

"What are these men's working hours?" asked 

"The hours vary according to the arduousness 
of the work, though it is now much more easy and 
pleasant, owing to our labor-saving machinery. 
From three to four hours usually constitute a day's 
work. Some prefer to put in their allotted time 
every day, and then spend the remainder in other 
pursuits. Others work all day, perhaps for a week, 
which would give them a week to do other things. 
Others, again, who wish more leisure for their self- 
appointed tasks, keep steadily on for a year, thus 
earning a year for themselves." 

"And what is done with this leisure?" asked the 


"Most of it is devoted to working in the tem 
ples of the Lord, where the saving ordinances of the 
gospel are performed for those who had not the 
privilege to do them for themselves in this life; but 
many other things are done. For instance, he who 
thinks he is an inventor, devotes his time to perfect 
ing his invention; those who wish to pursue a cer 
tain line of study, now have time to do so; some 
spend time in traveling." 

"Is there no competition among you?" said 
Remand. "Such a condition, it seems to me, would 
bring stagnation." 

"We have the keenest kind of competition," was 
the reply "a competition of the highest order that 
brings the most joyous life-activity into our work. 
Each steward competes with every other steward to 
see who can improve his stewardship the most and 
bring the best results to the general storehouse. For 
example, you noticed as you came into the city the 
beautifully kept gardens and farms lying for miles 
out into the country. These are all stewardships, 
and there is the keenest competition among the farm 
ers and gardeners to see who can make the land 
produce first the best crops, and then the most of 
that best. One man last year who has a small farm 
turned into the storehouse as his surplus one thou 
sand bushels of wheat. It was a remarkable record 
which this year many others are trying to equal or 
exceed. This sort of rivalry is found among all the 
various businesses and industries in Zion and her 
stakes; so you see, that even what you term the 
wealth producing incentive is not lost to us, but is 


used as an end to a mighty good, and not to foster 
personal greed." 

The three strolled farther away from the large 
factory building, out into a section where residences 
stood here and there among the trees in the park- 
like grounds. Approaching a beautiful sheet of water 
bordered by flowering bushes, lawns, and well-kept 
walks, they saw a man sitting on a bench by the lake. 
As his occupation seemed to be throwing bread 
crumbs to the swans in the water, the King and his 
companion concluded that here, at last, they had dis 
covered one of the idle rich, whom they still had in 
their own country. Remand expressed his thought 
to the guide. 

"He idle?" was the reply. "Oh, no; he is one 
of our hardest working men. That is one of our 
most popular writers, and in many people's opinion, 
our best. We must not disturb him now, but we will 
sit down here and observe him. We are told that 
when he is planning one of his famous chapters of 
a story, he comes down to this lake and feeds the 

"And do you still write, print, and read stories?" 
asked Remand. 

"Certainly. Imaginative literature is one of the 
highest forms of art. This man has most beautifully 
pictured the trend of the race, his special themes 
being the future greatness and glory of Zion. Why 
should he not paint pictures by words, as well as the 
artist who does the same by colors and the sculptor 
by form? If you have not read any of his books, you 


must take some of them home with you. See, he is 
moving away. Would you like to meet him?" 

They said they would. The author was soon 
overtaken, and he received his visitors graciously. 

"Yes," he laughingly acknowledged to Paulus, 
"you caught me fairly. I was planning a most inter 
esting scene of the book on which I am now engaged, 
and the swans are a great help." 

He led his visitors into the grounds surrounding 
his home, and then into his house. He showed them 
his books, his studio, and his collection of art treas 
ures. From an upstairs balcony he pointed out his 
favorite bit of landscape, a mixture of hill and dale, 
shining water, and purple haze in the distance. 

"Yes," he said, in answer to an inquiry, "I have 
read how, in former times, the workers in art, and 
especially the writer were seriously handicapped. 
The struggle for bread often sapped the strength 
which ought to have gone into the producing of a 
picture, a piece of statuary, or a book. Fear of some 
day wanting the necessities of life drove men to 
think of nothing else but the making of money; and 
when sometimes men and women were driven by the 
strong impulse of expression to neglect somewhat the 
'Making a living/ they nearly starved. How could 
the best work be produced under such conditions? 
I marvel at what was done, nevertheless." 

After spending a pleasant and profitable hour 
with the writer, the three visitors went on their way. 
They partook of some lunch at one of the public 
eating houses, then they went out farther into the 
country to look at the farms and gardens. Lines of 


easy and rapid transit extended in every direction, 
so that it took but a few minutes for Paulus and his 
friends to arrive at the place they desired. They 
alighted at an orchard, looked at the growing fruit 
and listened to the orchardist's explanations. After 
they had been left to themselves, Paulus continued: 

"I want you to see and taste a certain kind of 
apple that this man has produced. Apples are his 
specialty." He led the way to another part of the 
orchard, and found a number of ripening apples 
which he gave his friends. "What do you think of 
them?" he asked. 

"Most delicious!" they both exclaimed. "This 
might be the identical fruit that tempted Eve in the 
Garden of Eden," remarked Remand. 

As they walked amid the trees, the conversation 
reverted again to the writer of books whom they 
had just left. 

"This author's royalties must be very great " 
began the King's counselor, and then checked him 
self when he remembered the conditions about him. 

"Royalties?" replied Paulus; "yes, they are 
great; but they are not in money or material wealth. 
They consist in the vast amount of help, encourage 
ment, hope, and true happiness he brings to his 

"But do not men like treasure for treasure's 
sake? Have your very natures changed?" asked 
the King. 

"To some extent our natures have changed, but 
not altogether in this. Men and women still like to 
lay up treasures. It is an inevitable law that when 


men do some good to others, credit is given them for 
that good in the Book of Life. This wealth of good 
deeds may accumulate until one may become a veri 
table millionaire; and this treasure can never be 
put to an unrighteous use; moth can not corrupt 
it, nor thieves break through and steal." 

"One more question/' asked Remand. "I ob 
served that your novelist had a beautiful house, 
many rare books, and some priceless paintings and 
pieces of sculptured marble. Are these among the 
'needs' that you have spoken of so many times?" 

"To him, certainly. Each man gets that which 
will aid him most in his particular line of work. 
Those things are not needless luxuries or extrava 
gances. The writer is surrounded by beautiful 
things that he may be influenced by them to produce 
the most beautiful literature, just the same as any 
other laborer is provided with the best tools, helps, 
and environments that he may produce the best 

From the orchard they went to the gardens and 
other workshops, closing the day with a visit to one 
of the large mercantile establishments of the city. 

The next morning Paulus was on hand again to 
be their guide, but the King said: 

"We must now return home. Much as we would 
like to remain to take up our permanent abode 
here, I see that my duty calls me home. The Great 
King has something for me to do, and I shall try 
to do it. Let us be going." 

Then the two visitors thanked their guide most 
graciously as he set them on their homeward way. 



"In my Father's house are many mansions. * * * I go 
to prepare a place for you." John 14:S. 

Two men were walking in the grounds sur 
rounding a stately residence on the outskirts of 
the city. 

"I told you some time ago of the king of Po 
land's visit," said the one who had been instructor 
at the school. "Did you see that item in the paper 
this morning?" 

"Yes," replied the other. "The visit must have 
made a great impression on him, judging by what he 
is doing." 

"He was much interested. He is a good man, 
and is carrying out the instructions which he re 
ceived while here. You have not been here before?" 

"No; this is my first visit." 

"This house is being built for a descendant 
of mine who is yet in mortality. I visit with 
him frequently, and he has asked me for sug 
gestions as to its construction. I have had much 
pleasure in giving them. Soon he is to bring a wife 
into his new home, a dear good girl whom I am 
pleased to welcome in this way into our family. The 
workmen have nearly finished their labors and I am 
devoting some time to the preparation of the 
grounds. Will you have time to look around with 

"I have time today, brother." 

They walked towards the house. It stood on the 


slope of a gentle elevation which furnished a view of 
the country westward. 

"Here you see what I am doing. I am depart 
ing somewhat from the usual form of lawn plans, but 
I want this place to have a special feature. You see, 
I have led this stream of water around the hill-side 
and made it fall over this small precipice into this 
tiny lake. What do you think of it?" 

"It is beautiful and unique." 

"You see, brother, I have a liking for streams 
of water. They always please my eye, and their 
babble and roar is music to my ears. And then, 
someone else will soon be visiting with me here. I 
call this my temporary Earth-home; and brother, 
nothing can be too beautiful for my wife. 

His companion looked at him and smiled. The 
speaker smiled in return. They understood each other. 

"Yes, she is coming soon at any time, now." 

They walked into the house and inspected the 
building. It was no exception to the other houses in 
the city, as beautiful as gold, silver, precious stones, 
fine woods, silks, and other fabrics could make it. 
Most of the rooms were furnished, as if in readiness 
for occupancy. 

"I delight in statuary," was explained to the 
visitor, "and my wife delights in paintings. You see, 
I have catered to both our tastes, and especially hers. 
Those panels are the work of the famous Rene, and 
this ceiling was painted by the best artist in the city. 
Here, what do you think of this?" 

They paused before a large painting hung in the 
best light. It showed traces of age, but the colors 


indicated the hand of a master. It represented a 
scene where grandeur and beauty mingle; in the 
distance, blue hills; nearer, they became darker and 
pine clad; in the foreground loomed a rocky ledge; 
encircled by the hills, lay a lake, around whose shores 
were farms and farm houses with red roofs; and in the 
foreground of the lake was an island. 

"A fine picture," said the visitor, "and an old 

"It is a scene in old-time Norway, by one of 
Europe's best painters. H^.d is another. This is 
new, hardly dry, in fact. You observe that there 
are no pines on those hills. The farm house and the 
orchard in the foreground are as natural as life. 
She will recognize them at once." 

They passed out. 

"I have not had time to collect much in the way 
of statuary. I work a little at that art myself. Here 
is an unfinished piece, a model for a fountain." 

They sat on a bench within sight of the falling 

"Tell me about your family." 

"I have a wife and four children yet in the spirit 
world. It is not long as we count time since I left 
them, and they are soon to follow; but I am impa 
tient, I think. Oh, but she is a good woman, brother, 
good and true and beautiful; and my children are 
noble ones two boys and two girls even if one has 
been wayward. He will come back in time. Yes, my 
wife first taught me the knowledge of God, in the 
second estate, and opened to me the beauties of our 
Fathers' great plan. I had fallen low, and was in 


danger of going lower, when she came God sent 
her and with her pure, strong hand drew me up 
from the mire, God bless her." And the speaker 
smiled at the splashing waters. 

"Then in earth-life I left them so suddenly, and 
she struggled bravely on to the end. It was all for 
the best we know that now. I had a work to do 
in the spirit world, and God called me to it. I did it, 
and was accepted of the Master. We all met in the 
spirit world, and there continued our labors of love 
for the glory of God .-...d the salvation of His chil 
dren. Then my time came to pass through the resur 
rection, and here I am A Hark, what is that? Some 
one is calling." 

They listened. .From the house came a voice, 
a low, sweet voice, calling. 

"Brother, I must go," said he who had been 
talking. "Someone calls my name." 

He disappeared hurriedly within the door-way; 
and the visitor went on his way. 


"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and 
there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither 
shall there by any more pain: for the former things are passed 

"He that overcometh shall inherit all things; and I will 
be his God and he shall be my son." Rev. 21 :4-7. 

A sound, a whispered word echoes through the 
air and enters the ear. It touches the chords and 
finds them tuned to its own harmony. It plays ten- 


derly on responsive strings, and what an awakening 
is within that soul! What rapture in the blending, 
what delight in the union! From it is born a joy 
of the heavenly world. 

A sight, a glimpse of a form a certain form or 
face; the rays of light entering the eye meet with 
something keenly sympathetic, and the soul leaps 
in ecstasy. 

A touch, a gentle pressure of the hand; the 
union is complete. 

What was that voice that reached him a voice 
love-laden, full to over-flowing from the regions of 
the past? Ah, what sweetness courses through his 
veins, what joy leaps in his heart! 

Within, he sees her. She stands in the middle 
of the room, with her eyes upon the open door. She 
does not move. Her beautiful robe of shining white 
clings about her form or falls in graceful folds to 
the floor. Her hair, light as of old, now glistens like 
silken threads. Her face shines with the indescriba 
ble glow of immortality. 

She sees her husband. She raises her arms, and 
takes a step forward. She smiles such a smile! 

"Homan Rupert." 

"Delsa Signe." 

He takes her in his arms. He kisses her and 
holds her to his breast 

Presently strains of music came from another 
room. He listened as if surprised, but she looked up 
into her husband's eyes and smiled. The music 
ceased and a little girl appeared in the doorway. 

"May I come in?" she asked. 


"Alice, my darling." 

She runs towards them. 

"Papa, papa, oh, how glad I am!" 

He lifted her up and she threw her arms about 
his neck and kissed him again and again. 

"What a beautiful place this is!" she said. "0, 
mamma, I am very happy!" 

"Yes, Alice, we are all happy happy beyond 
expression. We now can partly understand that glo 
rious truth taught us, that 'spirit and element, in 
separably connected, receiveth a fulness of joy.' " 

Alice was playing with the fishes and the swans 
in the garden, and the husband and wife were sit 
ting by an open window, gazing out upon the city. 

"Brother Volmer has not been to see us yet," 
said he. "You remember he was our brother Sar- 

"I remember him well," she answered. 

"His musical talent is now of great blessing to 
himself and to the cause of God, as he is a musical 
director in the Temple. He understands now why 
he lost his hearing while in mortality, and he praises 
God for his then seeming misfortune." 

"Husband," said she, "I am thinking again 
about our children. How long will it be before we 
shall receive them all?" 

"Not long now; but each in his order. Leave 
that to the Lord." 

They looked out at Alice. The swans were eat 
ing from her hand, and she was stroking their curved 

"To look back," said he, "and see the wonderful 


ways through which the Lord has brought us to this 
perfection, fills my heart with praise to Him. Now 
we are beyond the power of death and the evil one. 
Now the pure, life-giving spirit of God flows in our 
veins instead of the blood of mortality. Now we can 
know the two sides of things. We understand the 
good, because we have been in contact with the evil. 
Our joy is perfect, because we have experienced 
pain and sorrow. We know what life is, eternal life, 
because we have passed through the ordeal of death." 
"Yes, Father teaches a good school." 

"And we have learned this truth," said she, 
"that existence itself is a continuous penalty or re 
ward. The children of God reap as they sow from 
eternity to eternity." 

"Yes; then dwell on this thought for a moment: 
Our lives have just begun, as it were. We have 
eternity before us, and we are only now equipped 
to meet it." 

"I am lost in the thought. But tell me about 
this thousand years of earthly peace and the last 
great change. Husband, I am a pupil now, and you 
the teacher." 

"There is much to tell in contemplating not only 
the realities but the possibilities of the future. This 
earth has for some time been enjoying its Sabbath 
of peace and rest. He who rebelled in the beginning 
and fought against God is bound, and Christ is sole 
King of the earth. His laws go to the ends thereof, 
and all nations must obey them. The Saints are 
building holy places, and working for the living and 
the dead. No graves are now made, as the bodies of 


the Saints do not sleep in the dust. Thus it will go 
on until the thousand years are ended. Then Satan 
will be loosed for a little season; but his time will be 
short. Then comes the last great scene. The Lord 
will finish His work. In the clouds of heaven, with 
power and great glory, He will be seen with all His 
angels. The mortal Saints yet on the earth will be 
instantly changed and caught up to meet Him. The 
holy cities will be lifted up. Then the elements will 
melt with fervent heat. The earth will die as all 
things must, and be resurrected in perfection and 
glory, to be a fit abode, eternally, for celestial beings. 
All things will become new; all things will become 
celestial, and the earth will take its place among the 
self-shining stars of heaven. Then shall we receive 
our eternal inheritance, with our children and our 
families. Then shall we be in possession of that 
better and more enduring substance spoken of by the 
prophets. All things shall be ours, 'whether life or 
death, or things present, or things to come;' all are 
ours, and we are Christ's and Christ is God's." 
"Why, then we will be like unto God." 
"And is it strange that children should become 
like their father?" 

"I remember now," said she, "as distinctly as 
though it were yesterday, what Father promised us 
in our first estate, that if we were faithful, we should 
be added upon, and still added upon. Do you re 
member it?" 

"Distinctly," he answered. "It was to be 'glory 
added upon our heads for ever and ever.' Father is 
fulfilling his promise," 


Then they sat still, not being able to speak their 
thoughts, but looked out towards the cloud-en 
circled towers of the city. 

Alice came running in. "The people are com 
ing," she said. 

They looked out of the window and saw two per 
sons approach, viewing the grounds with interest. 

"It is Henrik and Marie," exclaimed Signe. The 
newcomers were greeted rapturously. 

"Come in and see the results of my husband's 
planning," said Signe. 

The visitors were led through the house, and 
shown the gardens surrounding it. As they had 
been separated for a time from their friends they 
had many things to tell each other. 

"Do you know," said Henrik, as they were all 
sitting by the playing fountain, "on our way here, 
we met Rachel!" 

"Is she also risen?" asked Signe. "Oh, why did 
you not bring her with you?" 

"Well," said Henrik with a smile, "I told her 
where we were going and asked her to come along, 
But she naturally preferred to stay with her hus 
band who was taking her to see some of his own 
people; so she graciously declined, but said she would 
visit with us some other time." 

"Right away?" 

"I can't say. She clung pretty closely to her 
husband. They are a splendid pair. I am glad, for 
I will admit that I once thought Rachel's case was 


"We couldn't see very far, could we, brother?" 
remarked Rupert. 

"Our faith was weak, and we did not trust the 
Lord enough." 

"Yes; I used to wonder how the Lord would 
ever straighten out the mass of entanglements that 
seemed to exist in the world. We failed to compre 
hend the providences of the Lord because we could 
not see beyond the narrow confines of the world in 
which we were living; we could see only a small 
part of the circle of eternity; we could not see how 
that visible portion, which was often rough and un 
shapely, could fit into anything beautiful; but now 
our vision is extended, and we have a larger, and 
therefore, a more correct view." 

"And this I have found," said Henrik, smiling 
at Signe and Marie as with arms around each other, 
they sauntered down the garden path, "I have found 
that our work never ends. While in earth-life my 
mission was to seek after those of my people who 
had gone before me, and to do a work of salvation 
for them in the temples. In the spirit world, I con 
tinued my work preaching to my fellowmen, and 
preparing them to receive that which was and is 
being done for them by others. And now, I find, 
that I am busier than ever. We are teachers, direct 
ors, leaders, judges, and our field is all the earth." 
"Yes," replied Rupert, "I attended the laying 
of the corner-stone of the one-hundredth temple the 
other day; and we have only just begun. The time, 
talent, wealth, and energy that formerly went to the 
enriching of a few and that was spent to build and 


sustain armies and navies, now are directed to the 
building of temples and the carrying on the work in 
them. I used to wonder how the needed temple work 
could ever be done for the millions of earth's inhab 
itants, but now I can see how simple it is. Tens of 
thousands of Saints, in thousands of temples, in a 
thousand years of millenium can accomplish it. 
Every son and daughter of Adam must have a 
chance; every tangled thread must be straightened 
out; every broken link must be welded; every wrong 
must be righted; every created thing that fills the 
measure of its creation must be perfected; all 
this must be before the 'winding-up scene' comes. 
All this can be accomplished, for now we have every 
force working to that end. The earth is yet teeming 
with our brothers and sisters in mortality; there is 
continual communication between the spirit world 
and this world, and then here are we, with our kind ; 
we have passed through the earth-life, through the 
spirit world, through the resurrection and we, as 
you said, are busier than ever, because with our 
added knowledge and wider view comes greater 
power. Our services are needed everywhere. And 
what a blessed privilege we have in thus being able 
to help the Lord in the salvation of His children and 
the hastening to its destined end of celestial glory 
this world of ours." 

Alice was playing with some birds, which she 
seemed to have well trained, as they were flying back 
and forth from her hand to the bushes. The two 
women now came back along the path, stopping now 


and then to listen to a bird or to look at a flower. 
They joined Rupert and Henrik. 

"I have quite a lot of names from the spirit 
world to bring to the Temple today," said Rupert, 
"among them fifteen couples to be made husband 
and wife." 

"I have heard it said," remarked Marie, "that 
in heaven there is neither marrying nor giving in 

"Neither is there," answered Rupert, any more 
than there is baptism for the remission of sins. 
Neither this world nor the world of spirits, where 
live the contracting parties, is heaven." 

"Isn't this heaven?" asked Marie, looking 
around on the beauty with which she was sur 

"As far as we resurrected beings are con 
cerned," replied Rupert, "we have heaven wherever 
we go; but this earth is only being prepared for its 
heavenly or celestial state. Until that is finished, 
there shall be marrying and giving in marriage." 

"I'm glad of it," said Signe; for there is " 

She was interrupted by Alice, who came in with 
the announcement that others were coming up to the 
house. Henrik and Marie were greeted for the first 
time by visitors who continued to gather. For some 
time, white-clothed persons had been directing their 
steps towards the Temple. Now they were hurrying. 

"It is time to go," said Rupert. 

In a few moments they had changed their cloth 
ing, and with the speed of thought, they were within 
the Temple grounds. Entering, they took their 


places. Volmer passed, and he paused to speak to 
them. Soon the hall was filled. 

The Lord of Life and Light was there, and lent 
of His light to the scene. 

Brilliancy pervaded everything, shone from 
everything. It was not the sun, there being no daz 
zle; it was not the moon, but a clearness as of noon 
day. The whole Temple shed forth a lustre as if it 
were built of some celestial substance. The marble, 
the precious stones, the gold, seemed changed into 
light light, pure, calm, and consolidated into form. 
It radiated from the throne, and from Him who sat 
upon it. "Around His head was as the colors of the 
rainbow, and under His feet was a paved work of 
pure gold in color like amber." 

Hark! the music! How it fills the Temple, how 
it thrills the souls assembled. A thousand instru 
ments blend in exquisite harmony, ten thousand 
voices join in the song: 

"The earth hath travailed and brought forth her strength, 
And truth is established in her bowels; 
And the heavens have smiled upon her; 
And she is clothed with the glory of her God; 
For He stands in the midst of His people. 
Glory, and honor, and power, and might 
Be ascribed to our God; for He is full of mercy, 
Justice, grace, and truth, and peace, 
Forever and ever, Amen." 


The rise of man is endless. Be in hope. 
All stars are gathered in his horoscope. 
The brute man of the planet, he will pass, 
Blown out like forms of vapor on a glass. 
And from this quaking pulp of life will rise 
The superman, child of the higher skies. 
Immortal, he will break the ancient bars, 
Laugh and reach out his hands among the stare. 

Edwin Markham 


Old things have passed away, all now are new; 

Its measure of creation Earth has filled; 

The law of a celestial kingdom it 

Has kept, transgressed not the law; 

Yea, notwithstanding it has died, it has 

Been quickened once again; and it abides 

The power by which that quick'ning has been done 

Wherefore, it now is sanctified from all 

Unrighteousness, and crowned with glory, e'en 

The presence of the Father and the Son. 

Immortal Earth on wings of glory rolls, 
Shines like unto a crystal sea of glass 
And fire, whereon all things are manifest: 
Past, present, future, all are clear to those 
Who live upon this glorious orb of God. 

Upon this globe, God's children glorified 
Are no more strangers, wand'ring to and fro 
As weary pilgrims; now they have received 
Possessions everlasting on the Earth 
A portion of a glorified domain 
On which to build and multiply and spread 
A part of Earth to call always their own. 
Eternal mansions may they now erect; 


Make them of whatsoe'er their hearts' desire; 
For gold and silver, precious stones and woods, 
And fabrics rare, and stuffs of every hue, 
All plentiful in Nature's store-house lie, 
For them to freely draw upon and use. 
Masters of all the elements are they; 
And Nature's forces are at their command. 

The man and woman, in the Lord made one, 

Eternally are wedded man and wife. 

These now together make their plans, and build 

A lovely, spacious home wherein to dwell, 

A place for work, for rest, for new-found joys, 

A peaceful habitation, one beyond 

The power of evil ever to destroy. 


In their primeval childhood first estate 
These once had lived within their Father's home. 
Out from that home they had been sent to Earth 
To have their spirit bodies clothed upon 
With element, to come in contact with 
Conditions which were needful for their growth, 
And learn the lessons of mortality. 
There they had overcome temptation's wiles, 
There had obeyed the gospel of their Lord 
And worked out their salvation by its power. 

These two had met and mated, had fulfilled 

The first great law: "Give bodies clean and strong 


To Father's spirit-children from above." 

The time allotted they had lived on Earth, 

Had died the mortal death, had gone into 

The spirit world; from there they had come forth 

With resurrected bodies from the grave. 

Thus they had kept their first and second estates, 

And now were counted worthy to receive 

Their portion 'mong the exalted ones of God. 


Celestial man and woman now do live 

The perfect life; for every faculty 

Of heart and brain is put to highest use. 

The appetites and passions purged are 

From dross that fallen nature with them mixed. 

The will is master now, and every sense 

Is under absolute control, and gives 

Perfected service to perfected souls. 

These two have come into their very own. 

They walk by sight; and yet the eye of faith 

Sweeps out to future time and distant space 

And leads them on and on. They lay their plans 

And execute these plans to perfectness. 

Eternal Glory-land is their abode, 

So beautifully clothed in Nature's best, 

And basking in the pleasing smile of God; 

No need of light of sun or moon or stars; 

The glory of the Father and the Son 

Eclipses all such lights of lesser ray. 


Although with godlike powers they rule and reign, 

Yet are they Father's children, and to Him 

All loving honor and obedience give. 

And then that Elder Brother who has done 

So much for all, He also here abides, 

The Savior of the world and souls of men, 

The Lord of lords, the King of all the Earth, 

Yet ever-present Comforter and Friend. 


And now they learn the things they could not know 

On mortal earth. They learn the secrets of 

All things that are in space above, or in 

The Earth beneath: the elements which form 

The air that man did breathe, and where obtained, 

And how composed. They learn of primal rocks, 

Foundations of the new-formed worlds in space, 

And how these worlds evolve into abodes 

For man. The source of light and heat and power 

They find, and grasp the laws by which they may 

Be rightly used and perfectly controlled. 

And then, most precious gift! they learn of life: 

What makes the grass to grow, what gives the 


Their fragrance and their many-colored hues. 
They comprehend all life in moving forms, 
In worm, in insect, fish, and bird, and beast; 
And knowing this, they have the power to draw 
Life from its store-house, and to make it serve 
The highest good in never-ending ways. 



The truth has made these holy beings free. 
They having overcome all evil powers, 
Unfettered now they are and free to go 
Where'er they wish within the heavenly spheres. 
They're not alone on this perfected world, 
Here other children of the Father dwell, 
Who also have obeyed celestial law. 
All these are of the Father's household, and 
Are numbered with the just and true, of whom 
'Tis written, "They are God's," and they shall dwell 
Forever in the presence of their God. 

What bliss to mingle with such company! 
To taste the joys of friendships perfected, 
And feel to fulness that sweet brother-love 
Which binds in one the noble race of Gods! 

And other worlds may now be visited; 
For end there's none to matter and to space. 
Infinitude holds kingdoms, great and small, 
Worlds upon worlds, redeemed and glorified, 
And peopled with the children of our God, 
Who also have evolved from lower things. 
What opening visions here for knowledge rare! 
What sciences, what laws, what history! 
What stories of God's love in other worlds! 
Exhaustless themes for poets' sweetest songs; 
For painters, sculptors, every science, art 
Has never-ending fields of pure delight. 



To them "the universe its incense brings" 
Distilled from all the sweetness of the spheres. 


Earth's loveliest flow'r, the love'tween man and wife 

Transplanted is to this most holy sphere. 

Through all the toiling years of earth-life, it 

Had grown; and now, instead of dying with 

The mortal death, its roots are firmly fixed 

In the eternal soil of Glory-land. 

And blessed man! now at his side there stands 

A woman, one of heaven's queens, a wife, 

A mother to his children of the Earth, 

And yet to be a mother of a race. 

Her beauty rare surpasses power of words. 

Her purity, her sweetly gentle ways 

Rest as a crown of glory on her brow. 

Her love transcendent fills his heart with joy, 

And now he fully realizes that 

"The woman is the glory of the man." 

Here in thy Home, Woman all divine, 
Thy measure of creation thou doest fill! 
Intelligences come from out the womb 
Of Time, into thine own; thence are they born 
With spirit bodies, to thy loving care. 
Now thou art Mother, and doest know in full 
A mother's joy a joy untinged by pain, 
And with thy Husband thou hast now become 
Creator, fellow worker with thy Lord. 


Celestial Father, Mother at the head 

Of parentage they stand, the perfect type 

Of that eternal principle of sex 

Found in all nature, making possible 

For every living thing to multiply 

And bring increase of being of its kind. 

In this celestial world, the fittest have 

Survived. To them alone the pow'r is given 

To propagate their kind. 'Twas wisely planned. 

The race of Gods must not deteriorate. 

Thus everlasting increase is denied 

To those who have not reached perfection's plane. 

Herein is justice, wisdom all-divine, 

That every child born into spirit world 

Has perfect parentage, thus equal chance 

Is given all to reach the highest goal, 

And win the race which runs up through the worlds. 

And children fill the household of these Two 
And children bring perpetual youth, renew 
The tender sentiments, and firmly knit 
The heart of Father, Mother close in one. 
Thus do they work, and thus they follow in 
The footsteps of their Father; and they spread 
Out o'er the land of their inheritance. 
Masters of all, joint owners of the spheres, 
Eternal increase of eternal lives 
Is theirs; and this their work and glory is 
To bring to pass the immortality 
And life eternal to the race of men. 



Time passes as an ever-flowing stream. 

The many mansions teem with offspring fair, 

The spirit children of this heavenly world. 

Varied are they, as human beings are 

In form, in likes, in capabilities. 

Here love, combined with justice, rules; 

Here truth is taught, the right and wrong are 


Yet agency is given all, and they 
May choose the way selected by desire. 
Thus some more faithful are than others, and 
Advance more rapidly along the great 
Highway that leads among the shining stars. 

Time passes, and the time has fully come 
When spirits must be clothed upon with flesh, 
Must follow in the footsteps of their Sire, 
Must go to mortal earth and there work out 
Their soul's salvation in the self-same way 
That all perfected beings once have done. 

Far out in space where there is ample room 

And where primeval element abounds, 

This Father has been working, and still works, 

Fashioning a world on which to place 

His children. Without proper form, and void, 

In the beginning, this new world has passed 

From one stage to another, until now 

It rolls in space, an orb in beauty clad, 

A world on which a human race may dwell. 


This Father to his children thus doth speak: 

"The time has come for you to leave this home 

This first estate, and take another step 

Along progression's path. A new-formed world 

Is ready to receive you, and to clothe 

You in another body. You will then 

Learn many things you cannot here receive. 

A veil will then be drawn before your eyes 

That you will be unable to look back 

To us. Alone you'll have to stand; be tried 

To see if faithful you will still remain. 

There's darkness in that world; and sin will come 

And pain and suffering such as now you know 

Not of. But these will only clearly show 

How good is righteousness, and how much more 

To be desired the light than darkness is. 

Yet, you shall not be wholly left alone; 

My ministering angels shall keep watch, 

And near you all the time my power shall be, 

To help you in your direst hours of need. 

My sons and daughters, as you now do live 

Within your Father's ever-watchful care, 

Know this that always shall his loving arm 

Extended be to you; the Father-heart 

And Mother-heart eternally do yearn 

And feel for you in sorrow or in pain. 

Where'er you are, you're still within my reach. 

If you'll but turn to me, I'll hear your cries 

And answer you in my good time and place. 

Go forth as you are called, the lessons learn 

Of earthly school; fear only sin; abide 

By law, nor seek to be a law unto 


Yourselves, for by eternal law the worlds 

Are formed, redeemed, and brought to perfectness, 

Together with all flesh which on them live. 

Go forth. Be worthy to come back again 

And be partakers of all heights and depths, 

Things present, things to come, yea, life or death, 

And it shall be my pleasure to bestow 

Upon you all there is eternally." 

Joy fills this Father's children, and with one 
United voice of gladness do they sing: 
"Thanks, Father, kind and good for what you've 


Thanks for the added blessings which you bring. 
O glorious, wond'rous truth that we have found : 
The course of Gods' is one eternal round!" 



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